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/  •'  • ' 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


jq:^y/u:x^ 


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aayafiRcxxxECTi 


NEW    JUVENILE    BOOKS 


rLYMOTITH    ROCK    SERIES. 

(The  three  following  vols,  now  ready.) 

1.    THE   LITTLE   REBEL.  2.    THE   TALLOIl  BOY. 

3.    WILLAKD    PRIME. 


Read-y  for  ttie   IToli<iays: 

DOB  A  DABLESTG,  or  the  Daughter  of  the  Regiment. 

THE   LIFEBOAT.    By  R.  M.  Ballantyxe. 

THE    THREE    SCOUTS.    By  the  author  of  "  The  Drummer  Boy," 

"  Cudjo's  Cave,"  &c. 
ANTONY   "WEYMOUTH,  or  the   Gentlemen  Adventurers. 

By  KiNGSTOX,  author  of  "  Dick  Onslow  among  the  Red  Skins." 
GOLDEN   HAIR.    A  splendid  Story  by  a  popular  author. 


J^'etv  Editions  of  the  rollowing  ramoit*  JBooka, 

THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

THE    BOBBIN    BOY. 

THE    PRINTER   BOY. 

DICK  ONSLOW'S  ADVENTURES  AMONG  THE  RED 
SKINS. 

FAIRY   DREAMS.    (Beautiful  Fairy  Stories.) 

BIOGRAPHY   OP    SELF-TAUGHT   MEN. 

FOURTEEN  PET  GOSLINGS.  Illustrated  Stories  of  a  Lit- 
tle Boy's  Pets. 

THE  LIFE  OP  DANDY  JACK.  A  Book  of  Animals, 
Illustrated. 

ABEL   GRAY. 

J.   E.   TIIL.TO:X   &  CO.,  I»nl>Usliers. 


''S^mi 


DORA   DARLIN^G: 


THE 


DAUGHTER    OF    THE    REGIMENT. 


BOSTON: 

J".    E.    TZLTOIN"    ^^^JSTD    CO:MIP.AJ>rS'. 

1865. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S64,  by 

J.  E.  TILTOX  &  Co., 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


STEREOTYPED    AT    THE 

Boston    Stereotype    Foundry, 
No.  4  Spring  Lane. 


DORA    DARLING: 

THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  EEGIMENT. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  Hi  !  Dat  good  un !  Bully  for  de  'federates,  dis 
chile  say.  Dey's  showed  deyse'fs  out  now !  Cut  urn 
stick  in  de  night,  eh,  an'  put !  Jes'  like  de  wicked  flea  in 
de  Bible  dat  no  one  Avan't  a  tryin'  fer  to  cotch.  Golly, 
I  wish  I'd  got  de  rebel  flea  'tween  dis  yer  finger  an' 
fum !  AYouldn'  I  crack  urn  'bout  de  shortes'  ?  An'  de 
Yankees  got  dar  umformation  from  a  'telligent  conterban', 
did  dey?  Wish't  I  know'd  dat 'telligent  feller  •!  I'd  like 
'o  shake  ura  paw,  an'  gib  um  a  chaw  ob  ole  Yarginny  for 
de  sarvice  he  done  to  ebery  nigger  in  de  Souf  w'en  he 
help  de  Yankees.  Wish't  I  was  in  his  brogans,  —  reckon 
dey  wouldn'  fin'  no  'telligentcr  nor  no  willin'er  conterban' 
dan  ole  Pic  ud  make  ef  he  got  de  chance  fer  ter  show 
um  sentermen's  ;  but  de  trouble  wid  dis  yer  nigger  is,  him 
candle's  got  a  bushel  basket  atop  ob  um,  an'  de  Bible 
1*  (6) 

602699 


6  DORA  DARLIXG: 

hese'f  say  dat  dat  ar'  ain't  no  kin'  ob  a  fashion.  Bud  ef  de 
Yankees  'ud  come  an'  kick  off  de  ole  basket  —  golly, 
what  a  confurgation  o'  smartness  'ud  bust  on  dey  eye- 
sight !  " 

"  Then  you  believe  in  the  Yankees,  Pic,  and  would  like 
to  help  them  ?  "  said  a  low  voice. 

"  O  Lordy,  what  dat?  Golly,  mas'r,  whar  be  you? 
Hebenly  Marster,  I's  a  gone  goose  now  !  I  warn't  on'y 
funnin',  mas'r  ;  kin'  o'  makin'  b'lieve,  yer  know  !  "  stam- 
mered the  negro,  springing  from  the  feeding-trough, 
where  he  was  sitting,  and  hastily  cramming  the  torn 
newspaper  he  had  been  reading  into  the  pocket  of  his 
Osnaburgs. 

"Whar  be  you,  den,  any  way,  mas'r?"  continued  he, 
a  little  more  stoutly,  as  his  great  eyes,  rolling  wildly  from 
floor  to  scaffold,  from  scaffold  to  beam,  and  thence  into 
the  very  pitch  of  the  roof,  failed  to  discover  any  occupant 
of  the  room  besides  himself  and  Dolly  the  cow. 

"  Wha'  was  it?"  continued  he  in  a  lower  tone,  as  his 
first  demand  remained  unanswered.  "  'Tain't  de  time  o* 
day  for  ghos'esses  nor  brownies  ;  dey  all  takin'  dey  morn 
in'  nap,  an'  sleepin'  off  dey  night's  doin's.  Mabbe  'twas 
ole  Nick  hese'f,  on'y  I  'spected  he  wor  too  busy  takin' 
care  o'  de  'federacy  to  bodder  he  horns  'bout  one  ole 
nigger  like  dis  yer." 

"  No  ;  he  has  a  little  time  left  for  you.  Pic,"  returned 
the  same  sepulchral  voice,  although  the  speaker  still 
remained  invisible. 


THE   DAUGHTER    OF    THE   REGIMENT.  7 

"  I's  powerful  sorry  to  hear  dat  ar  news,"  retorted  the 
negro,  recovering  a  little  of  his  native  audacity  through 
the  very  extremity  of  his  terror. 

"  We  was  in  hopes,  now  he'd  got  dis  new  handle  ter 
work  wid,  he  wor  gwine  to  let  de  niggers  alone,  an'  let 
'um  try  to  he'p  deyse'fs  out  o'  de  fix  he's  got  'um  inter." 

"  It  isn't  old  Nick's  way  to  let  go  when  he  has  once  got 
hold,  Pie.  But  don't  you  want  to  see  him?  Shut  your 
eyes,  and  say,  '  Raw-head-and-bloody-bones,  fee-faw-fum' 
three  times,  and  then  look  up  in  the  mow  just  over  your 
own  head." 

Picter,  closing  his  eyes,  repeated  the  formula  to  the  best 
of  his  ability,  and  then,  opening  them  to  twice  their  usual 
size,  rolled  them  toward  the  designated  locality. 

Peering  over  the  edge  of  the  hay  appeared  a  white  and 
ghastly  face,  blood-stained  and  haggard,  and  closely 
swathed  in  a  white  bandage.  The  expression  was  pre- 
ternaturally  severe  and  solemn. 

*'"Well,  Pic,  and  what  do  you  think  of  me?"  inquired 
the  apparition,  after  a  considerable  pause. 

"  Golly,  mas'r  !  I  tink  you  isn'  so  brack  as  you's  paint- 
ed ! "  ejaculated  Pic,  adding,  with  more  assurance,  "  An' 
I  might  ha'  know'd  you  wasn',  cause  it  say  so  in  de 
Bible." 

The  grim  visage  suddenly  relaxed  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"  Bravo,  Pic  !  Pve  always  heard  '  the  devil  isn't  as 
black  as  he's  painted,'  but  I  never  heard  Scripture  author- 


8  DOE  A  DARLIKG: 

ity  for  it  before.  But  now  tell  me,  good  fellow,"  con- 
tinued the  mysterious  speaker,  with  some  return  of 
anxiety  in  his  voice,  "  can  anybody  overhear  me  but 
yourself?  " 

"  Wy,  mas'r,  dat  hard  question  fer  tcr  answer,"  said 
Pic,  dubiously,  while  his  wild  eyes  once  more  roamed 
about  the  barn.  "I  t'ou't  I  was  all  'lone  jes'  now,  w'en 
I  sot  down  fer  look  inter  de  paper  jes'  a  lilly  mluit." 

"  And  never  knew  I  was  listening  to  the  whole  story, 
Pic?"  put  in  the  voice,  more  joyously.  "  "Well,  as  far  as 
I  know,  there  is  no  one  else  here." 

"  'Less  you's  brung  you  sarvents  'long  wid  you,"  sus- 
piciously suggested  Pic.  *'  S'pose  dey's  put  dey  bodies 
in  dey  trousers'  pockets  jes'  now,  an'  is  unwisible." 

"  O,  my  imps  !  \^q\\^  I'll  promise  they  shan't  trouble 
you  as  long  as  you're  a  good  Union  man." 

"  Dis  yer  de  Sou'fern  'Federacy,  mas'r,"  said  Pic  cau- 
tiously ;  for,  as  his  belief  in  the  stranger's  human  character 
increased,  his  fears  of  him,  as  a  possible  spy,  returned. 

"  I  know  that,  you  cunning  old  darkey,  and  I  know, 
too,  your  Avay  of  feeling  about  it.  Didn't  I  just  hear 
your  opinion  of  the  result  of  our  fight  at  Carnifcx  Ferry 
the  other  day?  and  wasn't  you  just  envying  the  contra- 
band who  showed  us  the  way  through  those  confounded 
mountain  passes?  Well,  here's  an  opportunity  for  you 
to  rival  him.  I  am  a  federal  officer,  wounded,  and 
taken  prisoner  at  this  very  battle  of  Carnifex  Ferry.     I 


TEE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  nEGIMEXT.  9 

made  my  escape  the  second  day  after  I  was  taken  ;  but 
I've  lost  my  way,  and  wandered  among  the  mountains 
here  for  a  week,  I  should  think,  until  I'm  starved,  and 
footsore,  and  used  up  generally.  Last  night  I  crept  in 
here  for  a  sleep  in  your  master's  haymow  ;  and  just  now, 
after  hearing  you  express  your  sentiments  upon  war  mat- 
ters so  frankly,  it  occurred  to  me  you  might  like  to  help 
me  along  a  little.  Should  you  mind,  for  instance,  letting 
me  drink  out  of  that  pail  of  milk  ?  I  tried  to  get  some 
from  the  cow  in  the  night ;  but  I  am  afraid  my  education 
in  milking  was  neglected,  for  I  couldn't  get  a  drop,  and 
had  to  put  up  with  a  kick  instead." 

Pic  turned  and  looked  reproachfully  at  Dolly.  "  Now 
I  alluz  suspicioned  dat  ar'  cow  wor  a  kin'  ob  a  rebel 
beast,"  said  he.  ''  Dere  ain't  no  surer  way  fer  to  make 
her  ugly  Av'en  you's  a  milkin'  dan  ter  whistle  Yankee 
Doodle  ;  bud  ef  yer  pipe  up  Dixie,  she'll  let  down  as 
good  as  gole.  T'oder  night  I  got  so  mad  I  licked  her 
v.'id  thirteen  stripes,  an'  den  gib  her  thirteen  punches  wid 
a  hoe-handle,  ter  go  fer  stars  ;  but  I  don'  see  as  it  done 
any  good." 

'•You  must  try  compromise,  I'm  afraid.  Pic.  But 
now  come  up  here,  and  we'll  consult  a  little." 

"While  Pic  clambers  laboriously  into  the  haymow,  v/e 
will  cross  the  irregular  space  between  the  barn  and  the 
rambling  old  farm-house  to  Avhich  it  belonged,  and  make 
some  acquaintance  with  its  inmates. 


10  VORA  DAItLIXG: 

The  level  rays  of  the  morning  sun,  crowding  through  the 
one  eastern  window,  deluged  the  wide  kitchen  with  light, 
danced  a  little  scornfully  among  the  coarse  breakfast 
service  upon  the  table,  rioted  gleefully  in  and  out  of  Do- 
ra's chestnut  curls,  as  she  knelt  upon  the  hearth  carefully 
stirring  the  contents  of  the  saucepan,  and  rested  at  last 
with  a  loving  radiance  upon  the  pale  fingers  and  smooth, 
thin  locks  of  the  invalid  who  reclined  upon  the  couch 
beside  the  fire. 

"  There,  mother,"  said  the  girl,  as  she  started  to  her 
feet,  and  carried  the  saucepan  to  the  sink,  "  I  reckon 
you'll  say  your  gruel  is  first  rate  to-day.  There  ain't  a 
lump  in  it." 

"  You're  a  darling  little  nurse,  Dora,"  said  ISlxs.  Dar- 
ley,  while  her  eyes  rested  lovingly  upon  the  straight, 
firm  figure  and  noble  head  of  her  daughter. 

"  Only  twelve  years  old,  but  almost  a  woman  for 
strength  and  handiness,"  murmured  she,  thoughtfully. 

"TThat's  that,  mother?"  asked  Dora  from  the  other 
end  of  the  room. 

"Where  did  father  and  Tom  go,  Dora?"  asked  the 
mother,  faintly. 

"  Father  went  to  mill  with  TThitefoot,  and  Tom  went 
up  to  the  wood-lot  with  the  oxen,  to  fetch  home  some 
wood,  —  we've  hardly  a  stick,  —  and  Pic  has  got  to  reap 
all  day ;  we  couldn't  spare  him,  any  way." 

"  When  will  Tom  come  home  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Darley, 
a  little  anxiously. 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  liEGIMEXT.  H 

"  Not  till  night,  I  expect.  It's  a  good  distance,  and 
the  oxen  won't  hurry  much,  you  know.  He  took  a  lun- 
cheon with  him." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  murmured  the  invalid. 

*'  Why,  mother  ?     Do  you  want  to  see  Tom  ?  " 

"  Not  just  now  ;  but  I  don't  like  to  have  him  away 
from  home  so  far.  I  feel  as  if  you'd  ought  to  know,  my 
dear  little  girl,  that  your  mother  is  going  to  leave  you. 
My  strength  fails  all  the  time,  and  to-day  I  feel  very  low. 
I  can't  tell  just  Avhen  it's  coming,  Dora  ;  but  I  know  it 
will  be  soon  ;  and  I  must  bid  you  all  good  by  first,  or 
I  couldn't  go  happy." 

"  Mother  !  "  burst  from  the  girl's  lips,  as  she  came  has- 
tily to  her  side,  and  knelt  to  meet  the  offered  embrace. 

In  a  few  moments,  however,  the  self-restraint  that  cir- 
cumstances had  imposed  upon  the  child's  habit  until  it 
had  become  second  nature,  asserted  itself,  and  Dora 
gently  extricated  herself  from  her  mother's  arms,  and 
rose  to  her  feet,  saying,  — 

"  You'll  feel  stronger,  mammy  dear,  when  you've  had 
something  to  eat.     I'll  bring  the  gruel." 

Then,  after  she  had  placed  a  chair  and  a  pillow  at  her 
mother's  back,  she  brought  the  little  tray,  covered  with  a 
damask  napkin,  and  holding  the  one  china  cup  and  silver 
spoon  of  the  meagre  household.  Dora  waited  silently 
until  the  invalid  began  to  sip  the  delicate  gruel  with 
apparent  relish,  and  then  she  walked  away  to  the  win- 


12  DOHA  DABLINGi 

dow.  In  vain  the  gay  sunshine  beat  upon  the  face  now 
turned  toward  it.  A  deadly  pallor  had  killed  the  roses 
on  cheek  and  lip,  and  in  the  steadfast  gray  eyes  lay  a 
depth  of  uncliildish  sorrow  that  no  sunlight  could  soften 
into  soothing  tears.  This  strange  child,  who  never  com- 
plained and  almost  never  wept,  concealed  a  capacity  of 
suffering  beneath  that  quiet  exterior,  unknown  even  to 
the  dying  mother,  who  built  so  hopefully  upon  the  undue 
maturity  of  her  darling's  nature. 

Dora,  fighting  desperately  with  this  terrible  new  grief 
that  had  so  suddenly  fallen  upon  her,  did  not  notice, 
although  her  eyes  mechanically  rested  upon  him,  the 
uncouth  figure  of  a  man,  who,  while  limping  across  the 
yard,  vainly  sought  to  attract  her  notice,  and  beckon  her 
to  the  outside  of  the  house.  This  man  was  a  middle- 
aged  negro,  intensely  black,  and  most  curiously  mis- 
shapen,— his  right  leg  being  an  inch  or  more  shorter 
than  the  other,  while  the  shoulder  upon  the  same  side  of 
his  body  was  as  much  higher  than  the  left,  and  all  the 
features  on  the  right  side  of  his  face  were  coniically 
twisted  upward.  In  fact,  the  idea  suggested  by  the 
whole  figure  was,  that  some  giant,  in  a  playful  mood,  had 
seized  it  by  the  two  feet,  and,  while  pulling  the  left  one 
down,  had  pushed  the  right  one  up,  giving  an  upward 
tendency  to  that  whole  side  of  the  body. 

This  strange  being  was  named  Epictetus ;  but  this 
name,  too  long  for  common  use,  had  been  shortened  into 


/     THE  DAUGHTER   OF  TEE  BEGIMEXT.  13 

Picter,  and  occasionally  Pic.  He  was  the  sole  retainer 
of  the  house  of  Darley,  and  clung  to  its  decaying  fortunes 
with  the  tenacity  of  his  race  and  temperament. 

Just  now  he  Avas  particularly  desirous  of  a  moment's 
conversation  with  his  young  mistress  before  entering  the 
house  ;  but,  finding  it  impossible  to  attract  her  notice,  he 
limped  on  to  the  back  door,  and  presently  entered  the 
kitchen. 

Dora,  aroused  by  the  click  of  the  heavy  latch,  came 
immediately  to  meet  him,  anxious  to  prevent  his  disturb- 
ing her  mother  with  questions  or  complaints  ;  for  Mrs. 
Darley  had  steadfastly  stood  between  the  slave  and  many 
a  threatened  injustice  or  cruelty  on  his  master's  part. 

"What  is  it,  Picter?"  asked  Dora,  softly. 

"  O,  Missy  Dora,  honey,  what's  you  s'pose  we's  gwine 
to  do  'bout  dis  yer  bizness  ?  " 

"  What  is  it  —  what's  the  matter,  Picter?  " 

"W'y,  here's  dis  yer  feller — w^ait  now,  lemme  go  ax 
mist's  'bout  it.  She'll  fix  um  better  nor  de  Queen  o' 
Sheby  could." 

"  Well,  there  she  is  ;  but  don't  plague  her  about  any- 
thing that  can  be  helped,  Uncle  Pic,  for  she's  not  so  well 
to-day." 

With  these  words,  Dora  abruptly  turned  away,  and 
began  to  clear  the  table,  her  lips  assuming  a  painful 
compression. 

Picter  pulled  off  his  old  straw  hat,  and  coming  close 
3 


14  DOB  A  DARLING: 

up  to  his  mistress's  couch,  bent  down  and  began  to  speak 
to  her  in  a  low,  agitated  voice.  As  he  proceeded,  Mrs. 
Darley  also  became  moved,  and  presently  called, — 

"  Dora  !  " 

Dora  came  directly,  and  stood  beside  her  mother, 
smoothing  her  hair,  and  glancing  rather  reproachfully  at 
Picter,  who  had  disturbed  her  thus. 

"Dora,  Picter  says  that  there  is  a  poor,  wounded 
Union  soldier  in  the  barn,  who  has  got  away  from  some 
of  the  rebels,  v>'ho  had  taken  him  prisoner,  and  is  trying 
to  get  back  to  his  regiment.  He  hid  himself  in  our  barn 
last  night,  and  meant  to  stay  there  all  day,  but  Picter 
found  him.  He  is  very  hungry  and  tired,  and  his  wound 
has  never  been  done  up,  or  anything.  Isn't  it  dreadful, 
Dora?"         *^ 

"  Yes,  mother,"  said  the  girl,  in  a  low  voice,  while  her 
eyes  brightened,  and  the  color  deepened  on  her  cheek. 

"  But,  mother,  ain't  you  glad  he  came  to  us  instead  of 
anywhere  else  about  here  ?  " 

"Yes,  dear  child,  we  will  do  our  very  best  for  him  ; 
I  knew  you  would  feel  so,"  said  Mrs.  Darley,  answering 
the  meaning  rather  than  the  words  of  her  daughter's  re- 
mark. "But  you  know,"  added  she,  hesitatingly,  "father 
doesn't  feel  as  we  do  about  the  war." 

Dora  paused  a  moment,  and  then  said,  decidedly, — 

"  Well,  mother,  I  feel  the  way  you  do  about  every- 
thing, and  the  way  you  feel,  is  the  right  way." 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  15 

Mrs.  Parley  looked  relieved.  She  was  uot  a  strong 
woman,  either  of  body  or  mind,  and  this  was  by  no 
means  the  first  time  she  had  indirectly  asked  counsel  of 
her  little  daughter  in  the  troubles  that  beset  her  life. 

"  Then,  Picter,"  said  she,  joyfully,  "  you  may  go  and 
bring  him  in." 

"  I  know'd  you'd  say  it,  mist's  I  "  exclaimed  the  negro, 
joyfully,  as  he  stumped  away  through  the  back  door. 

"  Xow,  Dora,  go  to  my  lower  bureau-drawer,  and  get 
that  bundle  of  old  linen  at  the  right-hand  end,  and  bring 
the  bottle  of  liniment  from  the  cupboard.  Now  pour 
some  warm  water  into  the  wash-basin,  and  put  it  in  the 
sink,  and  bring  a  fine  towel." 

"All  ready,  nether." 

"  Smart  girl !  "Well,  next  you  may  get  him  some 
breakfast.  Make  a  little  fresh  tea,  and  set  out  the  cold 
meat,  and  some  bread  and  butter.  Then  boil  a  couple 
of  fresh  eggs.     Here  he  comes." 

The  door  opened,  and  Picter  stood  aside  to  allow  the 
stranger  to  enter  first. 

He  was  a  tall,  slender  young  man,  or  rather  lad,  for 
he  was  but  a  little  more  than  twenty  years  of  age,  with 
a  face  that  might  be  handsome,  but  was  just  now  too 
pale,  and  haggard,  and  blood-stained,  for  beauty.  The 
fair  hair,  too,  was  clotted  and  stifiened  with  blood,  and 
the  white  handkerchief  bound  about  his  head  was  soaked 
Avith  it.  He  wore  the  uniform  of  a  federal  officer ;  but 
every  garment  was  torn,  soiled,  and  battle-stained. 


16  DORA  DARLIXG: 

Mrs.  Barley  uttered  a  cry  of  dismay  and  pity.  Dora 
stood  still  and  looked  at  him  as  she  had  looked  at  the 
sun  a  half  hour  before.  The  young  man  advanced  pain- 
fully, but  without  Embarrassment,  to  Mrs.  Barley's  couch. 

"  You  are  very  good,  madam,"  said  he,  "  to  send  for 
me.  I  only  asked  some  food,  and  leave  to  rest  through 
the  day  in  your  barn." 

"  We  would  not  leave  you  there.  I  have  a  son  my- 
self.    He  may  some  day  be  in  your  case." 

"In  the  same  good  cause?"  asked  the  soldier,  with 
animation. 

Mrs.  Barley  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  I  am  afraid  not.  The  border  states  are  full  of  divided 
households.     The  old  Scripture  curse  ha%come  upon  us." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  the  young  man,  faintly,  as  he  sank 
into  the  chair  offered  by  Picter.  "  It  is  very  hard  upon 
you  who  lie  as  it  were  between  the  two  armies." 

"  God  only  knows  how  hard,"  said  Mrs.  Barley, 
mournfully.  "  But,"  added  she,  immediately,  '•  I  am  for- 
getting all  that  I  ought  to  remember  first.  There  is 
some  water  and  a  towel.  You  had  better  sit  down,  and 
let  my  little  girl  take  that  handkerchief  off  your  head, 
and  then,  after  you  have  bathed  it,  she  will  do  it  up  with 
some  liniment.  I  am  sure  it  will  feel  better  for  it.  Then 
you  m.ust  have  a  good  breakfast,  and  after  that  you  had 
better  go  to  bed  up  stairs,  and  try  to  sleep  till  night. 
After  dark  Picter  will  show  you  the  road  North,  or 
wherever  vou  want  to  2:0." 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF   THE  REGIMEXT.  17 

The  young  man  rose,  and  held  out  his  hand  to  the 
kind  woman  who  thus  endangered  her  own  prosperity, 
perhaps  her  life  even,  for  a  stranger  and  for  his  cause. 

"  I  cannot  thank  you  as  1  ought  for  this  kindness," 
said  he,  in  a  broken  voice.  ^'  But,  if  I  ever  see  my 
mother  again,  I  shall  tell  her  of  you,  and  she  shall  thank 
you  as  only  she  can.     She  would  do  as  you  are  doing." 

"  Some  time  perhaps  she  will,"  said  the  invalid,  feebly. 
"  Now,  Dora,  come  and  help  the  gentleman.  She  can 
remove  the  bandage  better  than  you  can.  sir,  because 
she  can  see  it." 

In  a  short  time,  by  the  help  of  plenty  of  warm  water, 
soap,  and  a  towel,  the  young  stranger  presented  a  much 
less  ghastly  appearance ;  and  when  Dora  had  deftly 
bound  on  the  cool,  clean  bandage,  soaked  in  healing  lini- 
meat,  he  declared  that  he  felt  himself  a  different  man. 

"Sit  down  now  and  eat,"  said  Mrs.  Darley,  smiling. 
"  Picter,  you  must  go  and  keep  watch  round  the  house, 
and  if  you  see  any  one  coming,  let  us  know.  Dora, 
pour  some  tea  for  —  what  shall  we  call  you,  sir?" 

"  They  call  me  Captain  Karl  at  home,"  said  the  young 
man,  laughing  ;  "  and  perhaps  I  had  better  not  tell  you 
any  more  of  my  name.  So,  if  you  are  questioned  about 
me  by  my  true  title,  you  can  say  you  never  heard  it." 

"  Then,  Captain  Karl,  sit  down  at  the  table,  and  help 
yourself.     I'm  sorry  we've  notliing  better  to  oflfer." 
2» 


CHAPTER  II. 

PiCTER,  detailed  by  his  mistress  as  a  scout,  went  about 
the  duty  somewhat  unwillingly.  He  would  have  preferred 
to  lurk  in  the  farther  end  of  the  great  kitchen,  and  feast 
his  eyes  and  ears  with  the  presence  of  the  federal  soldier, 
whom  he  looked  upon  as  in  a  large  degree  his  own  prop- 
erty by  right  of  discovery. 

He  found  reason,  however,  to  congratulate  himself 
upon  his  prompt  obedience,  when,  in  limping  across  the 
yard  toward  the  barn,  he  met  a  lank,  ill-looking  fellow, 
by  name  Joe  Sykes,  coming  out  of  it. 

This  Sykes  was  one  of  Mr.  Barley's  nearest  neighbors, 
and  one  of  the  bitterest  rebels  in  the  whole  South.  He 
was  also,  as  Picter  well  knew,  a  hard  and  cruel  master  to 
his  negi'oes  and  his  family,  and  was  consequently  hated 
by  all  the  colored  people  within  the  circle  of  his  reputa- 
tion. Although  intimate  with  her  husband,  this  man 
was  so  displeasing  to  Mrs.  Darley,  that  she  had  plainly 
intimated  to  him  that  his  presence  was  disagreeable,  and 
he  now  very  rarely  entered  the  house. 

"  Hallo,  Pic,"  growled  this  Avorthy  gentleman,  as  the 
negro  approached.    "  Who've  you  got  to  your  house?  " 

(18) 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMEXT.  19 

"  Got,  Mas'r  Sykes?  "  inquired  Picter,  vriXh.  an  air  of 
intense  innocence.     '^  We've  got  all  de  folks." 

"  Is  your  master  in  ?  " 

"  Mas'r?  Well,  no,  mas'r  ain't  in  ;  but  mist's  and  Missy 
Dora  dere.  Mist's  ain't  bery  well  dis  yer  mornin',  an' 
she  layin'  abed.     Got  any  arrand  for  her,  Mas'r  Sykes  ?  " 

"  No,"  snarled  Sykes.  "  Who  was  that  went  across 
from  the  barn  to  the  house  with  you  about  ten  minutes 
ago,  you  black  cuss  ?  " 

"  'Bout  ten  minute  ago,"  repeated  Picter,  leaning  on 
the  hoe  he  had  been  handling,  and  appearing  to  consider 
the  question  very  gravely.  "  Well,  now,  Mas'r  Sykes, 
you  go  agin  larnin'  niggers  any  sort  o'  ting,  dey  say. 
Now,  dat  all  right  I  s'pose,  else  Mas'r  Sykes  'ouldn't  go 
fer  it.  Biit  now  jes  see  here,  mas'r.  Ef  a  nigger  ain't 
neber  been  taught  nuffin',  how's  he  gwine  to  tell  nuffin'  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  you  old  fool?  " 

"  W'y,  mas'r  axes  me  who  went  crost  dis  yer  yard  'bout 
ten  minute  ago.  Now,  niggers  hain't  got  no  call  to  know 
what's  o'clock,  yer  den  say ;  den  how's  dis  nigger  gwine 
to  know  how  much  is  ten  minute  ?  " 

Mr.  Sykes  looked  at  the  sable  logician  with  a  curious 
expression  of  bewildered  anger,  but  found  no  better  reply 
to  make  than  an  oath,  which,  being  neither  pleasing  in 
itself  nor  appropriate  to  the  subject,  we  will  omit. 

"  Who's  in  your  house  now,  then  ? "  asked  Sykes, 
angrily,  after  he  had  thus  relieved  his  mind. 


20  DOHA   DABLIKG: 

"  "Well,  dere's  mist's.  Now,  Mas'r  Sykes,  I  feci 
worried  'bout  mist's.  She's  mighty  porely  dese  times. 
'Pears  like  some  days  she  gwine  to  drop  right  off  de 
hooks,  an' " 

"  Never  mind  your  mistress,  you  blockhead  ;  who's  she 
got  with  her?  " 

"  Wid  her.  Wy,  she  got  Missy  Dora.  Dat  chile  ain't 
neber  fur  off  from  her  mammy.  Spec's  dere  ain't  no 
more  sich  gals  'bout  here,  any  way. — "What,  is  yer 
gwine,  Mas'r  Sykes?  ^Von't  yer  step  in  an'  ax  for  mist's? 
Missy  Dora  gib  you  all  de  'tic'lars  'bout  her  healf.  — 
Gosh  !  now  dat  feller  gone  off  powerful  mad  wid  dis  yer 
pore  ignorant  critter.  "Wish't  I  know'd  how  ter  talk  to 
a  gen'l'man  better.     Ho,  ho,  ho  !  " 

Picter  indulged  for  a  few  moments  in  a  congratulatory 
chuckle,  but  then  became  suddenly  gi-ave. 

"  Yer  ole  fool,"  said  he  severely  to  himself.  '*  Can't 
yer  do  nuffm'  but  stan'  cacklin'  here  like  de  rooster  w'en 
de  ole  hen  lay  a  egg?  Dat  feller  won't  neber  rest  till 
he's  got  some  one  ter  come  an'  help  him  peek  inter  all  our 
cubboards  an'  tater  kittles  arter  dat  Yankee.  Pore  feller, 
he's  got  to  trot.  "S^"on't  git  dat  nice  all-day  sleep  mist's 
tole  for.  Wish't  ole  Pic  could  get  wounded  an'  go  ter 
bed  up  sta'rs  all  day." 

Shambling  across  the  yard  in  a  purposeless  sort  of  way, 
Picter  stopped  to  gather  an  armful  of  wood,  in  case  he 
should  be  watched,  and  carried  it  in  a  leisurely  manner 
into  the  kitchen. 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE  BEGIMEXT.  21 

No  sooner,  however,  was  the  door  safely  closed  behind 
him,  and  the  wooden  bar  dropped,  than  the  old  negro 
flung  down  his  wood  upon  the  hearth,  and  inquired,  — 

"Mas'r  cap'n,  how  yer  like  to  hab  a  call  from  de 
neighbors  roun'  here  ?  " 

Captain  Karl  started  to  his  feet,  and  carried  his  hand 
to  his  empty  scabbard. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Picter?"  asked  Mrs.  Darley, 
hurriedly.     "  Is  there  danger  ?  " 

"  Dat  old  Sykes  ben  trailin'  roim'  here,  an'  want  fer 
know  who   come   cross  from  de  barn  to  de  house  lono- 

o 

o'  me  jes  now." 

"  You  did  not  tell  him,  Picter  !  " 

"Dis  nigger  ain't  quite  a  fool  yit,  mist's.  But  I 
couldn'  pull  de  wool  ober  he  eyes  so  fur  but  what  he 
fought  he  seed  de  leetle  end  ob  de  rat's  tail,  an'  he  smell 
him  powerful  strong.  So  he  went  off  to  git  seben  oder 
debils  wusser  dan  hisself,  I  spec." 

"  I  must  go  at  once,"  exclaimed  Captain  Karl.  "  But 
whither?"  added  he,  bitterly. 

Mrs.  Darley,  Dora,  and  Picter  looked  at  each  other  and 
at  him.     The  mother  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Picter,  you  know  the  place  where  that  poor  fellow 
was  hid  last  summer  so  lonor." 

"  Yes,  mist's,"  said  the  negro,  gloomily. 

"  You  wilhnot  be  afraid  to  trust  this  gentleman  with 
the  secret  of  it?" 

"  Not  ef  you  say  so,  mist's." 


22  DOHA   DAIiLIXG: 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid.  I  pledge  you  my  honor  that 
your  secret  shall  be  safely  kept,"  exclaimed  Captain  Karl. 

"  Dunno  wot  you'll  see  an'  hear  dar,"  said  Picter,  while 
his  face  lost  a  shade  or  two  of  its  rich  coffee  color. 

"Why?"  asked  the  officer,  anxiously. 

"  A  pore  boy  dat  dis  ole  Sykes  licked  mos'  to  def  got 
away  an'  hid  dere,  an'  arter  a  w'ile  he  died,"  said  the 
negro,  in  a  hard,  savage  voice. 

"  Shocking.     But  no  one  knew  where  he  was  hid?" 

"  No  one  but  dem  as  helped  him." 

"Negroes?" 

"  Yes,  mas'r." 

"  I  will  trust  them,"  cried  the  captain,  joyously.  "  I 
should  not  be  afraid  to  let  every  negro  in  the  South  know 
my  hiding-place,  and  that's  more  than  I  would  say  for  the 
white  men  even  of  my  own  Massachusetts." 

"  Mas'r,  I's  proud  to  sarve  ye,"  said  Picter,  straight- 
ening his  poor  back  to  the  utmost. 

"  Dora,  put  up  as  much  food  as  they  can  carry ;  and 
you  had  better  take  a  blanket  or  comforter.  Captain  Karl. 
You  may  have  to  stay  a  day  or  two  in  the  mountains," 
said  Mrs.  Darley,  anxiously. 

"  A  small  blanket,  if  you  will  be  so  kind,  would  indeed 
be  a  luxury,"  said  the  soldier,  smiling  ;  "  and  I  will  leave 
it  behind  me  for  Picter  to  bring  back.  But  will  not  you 
get  into  trouble  yourself,  if  it  is  known  that  you  have 
helped  a  Union  officer  in  this  manner  ?  " 

"  Perhaps.     But  that  is  a  matter  we  cannot  control. 


THE  DA  TIGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  23 

No  one  will  hurt  me  or  this  little  girl,  however,  and  Mr. 
Darley  is  too  well  known  as  a  secessionist  to  suflfer  in 
his  property.     A  few  hard  words  will  be  all,  so  far  as  we 
are  concerned.     But  Picter  —  " 
She  paused  and  looked  troubled. 

"  Yes,  they  will  try  to  force  the  truth  from  him  if 
possible.     Will  your  husband  allow  him  to  be  ill  used?  " 
Mrs.  Darley  shook  her  head. 

"  The  faithful  fellow  must  not  be  exposed  to  such  a 
risk.     What  can  be  done  ?  " 

"  I  will  go  alone,"  said  Captain  Karl,  firmly.  "  Picter 
will  give  me  directions,  and  I  dare  say  I  can  find  the  spot 
you  mention.  If  not,  I  will  hide  somewhere  among  the 
mountains  until  I  can  go  forward  upon  my  journey." 

"  No  ;  you  would  be  found,  or  you  would  die  of  hunger 
and  exposure.  Picter  shall  go  with  you,  and  he  shall  not 
come  back,  —  that  is,  if  there  is  any  danger.  Before 
night  I  shall  know  if  Sykes  has  suspected  enough  to 
bring  the  Vigilance  Committee  upon  us.  If  they  come, 
they  would  think  nothing  of  torturing  a  negi'o  to  death  on 
the  chance  of  catching  a  federal  officer. 

"  After  dark,  Picter,  come  carefully  back  until  you  can 
see  this  house.    If  all  is  safe  there  shall  be  a  light  in  Miss 
Dora's  room,  up  stairs.     You  know  which  it  is  ?  " 
"  Yes,  mist's." 

"  But  if  I  think  any  one  means  to  harm  you  for  what 
we  have  done  to-day,  there  M-ill  be  no  light  up  stairs,  and 
you  win  go  back  to  Captain  I^iarl." 


24-  DOr.A  DARLIXG: 

"  An'  whar  '11  I  go  arter  dat,  mist's?"  asked  the  negro, 
in  a  voice  husky  with  emotion,  and  the  sudden  hope  that 
the  words  of  his  mistress  had  aroused  in  his  heart. 

"  To  the  North,  to  freedom,  Picter,"  said  Mrs.  Darlev, 
solemnly.  "  I  have  been  tliinking  of  you  for  a  good 
while,  Picter.  I  am  going  fast  to  another  home  than 
this.  There  would  be  no  one  to  protect  you  from  —  many 
things.  Your  master  is  going  to  join  the  rebel  army, 
and,  I  suppose,  would  either  sell  you  or  take  you  with 
him.  You  deserve  better  than  that,  Picter,  and  you  shall 
have  it.  If  you  come  back  this  time  I  v.-ill  contrive  your 
escape  before  I  die  ;  but  perhaps  if  you  go  now,  Captain 
Karl  can  help  you  after  you  reach  the  Union  army." 

"  I  can,  aiici  v.iil,"  said  the  captain,  eagerly.  "  Let 
him  come  with  me,  if  you  have  really  made  up  your  mind 
to  send  him  away,  and  I  will  charge  myself  with  his  wel- 
fare." 

"  Let  it  be  so  then,"  said  Mrs.  Darley,  faintly  ;  "  and 
I  thank  the  Lord,  that  has  opened  a  way  for  him,  and  for 
you,  too,  for  he  will  help  you  in  your  escape  in  a  great 
many  ways." 

At  this  moment  Picter,  who  had  stood  rolling  his  gi^eat 
eyes  from  the  face  of  one  speaker  to  the  other  in  a  sort 
of  bewildered  ecstasy,  suddenly  limped  forward,  and  fell 
upon  his  knees  beside  his  mistress. 

Seizing  her  pale  and  trembling  hand,  he  pressed  his 
great  lips  reverently  upon  it,  and  sobbed  out, — 

"  De  Lord  bress  you,  mist's.     De  Lord  bress  you  an' 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMEXT.  £5 

keep  yon.  An'  ef  you's  r'ally  a  gwine,  it's  cause  de 
angels  is  lonesome  fer  ye.  I  didn'  spect  it,  mist's  ;  I 
nebber  speeted  fer  ter  be  free  till  I  got  to  heben." 

"  But  I  have  tried  to  be  kind  to  you  here,  Picter,  and 
so  have  the  children,"  said  Mrs.  Darley,  a  little  hurt, 
after  all,  that  her  servant  should  be  so  entirely  overjoyed 
at  leaving  her  forever. 

"  Yes,  mist's,  yu's  ben  raal  good  alluz,  and  missy,  too. 
Nobbuddy  couldn'  be  better  off  ef  dey'd  got  to  be  a  slave 
dan  I's  ben  long  o'  yer,  mist's  ;  but  mist's  dear,  'tain't  de 
same  ting,  no  how.  De  bestest  off  slave  's  wusser  off  den 
de  mis'ablest  free  man." 

"  Don't  come  back,  at  any  rate,  Picter.  I  never  knew 
you  cared  so  much,  or  you  should  have  gone  long  ago. 
Remember,  you  are  not  to  come  back,  on  any  account. 
Dora,  bring  my  purse,  and  give  it  to  Uncle  Picter.  I'm 
sorry  it's  so  little,  but  it's  all  I  have.  And  now  you  must 
really  go  as  fast  as  you  can,  captain.  I  have  done  very 
wrong  to  keep  you  so  long.  Here  are  the  basket  and  the 
blanket.  Good  by,  sir,  and  take  care  of  Picter  for  me." 
"  You  may  depend  upon  me  for  that,  Mrs.  Darley.  I 
shall  never  forget  your  kindness.  Good  by,  madam. 
Good  by.  Miss  Dora." 

He  shook  hands  with  the  mother,  hurriedly  kissed  the 
child's  forehead,  and  was  gone,  followed  by  Picter,  who 
laughed  and  cried  by  turns  in  such  a  manner  as  to  make 
his  farewell  speeches  rather  unintelligible. 
3 


CHAPTER    III. 

Two  or  three  hours  after  the  departure  of  the  fugitives 
passed  quietly  over  —  quietly,  that  is,  as  to  events;  but 
Mrs.  Darley  had  been  so  agitated  and  tired  with  the 
excitement  of  the  morning  that  she  could  not  get  over  it, 
and  Dora  was  far  more  alarmed  than  she  confessed  at 
the  alternate  fever  and  deathly  faintness  that  her  mother 
vainly  tried  to  conceal.  Whatever  the  child  could  do 
was  done,  although  with  few  words ;  nor  did  the  little 
housemaid  neglect  to  prepare  dinner  for  her  father  at  the 
usual  time,  although  she  secretly  feared  his  return  home 
in  a  temper  ill  suited  to  a  pleasant  repast. 

A  little  after  noon,  the  sound  of  hurried  feet  was  heard 
outside  the  door,  and  Mr.  Darley  entered  with  rude 
violence,  followed  by  Sykes  and  another  man  of  the 
same  stamp. 

Mrs.  Darley  closed  her  eyes,  and  turned  very  pale. 
Dora  went  to  her  side,  and  taking  her  hand,  turned  a 
keen,  defiant  gaze  upon  the  strangers.  At  her  father 
she  did  not  glance. 

*'  Mary,  what  man  came  here  this  morning  about  eight 
o'clock  ?  "  asked  Darley,  sternly. 
(26) 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  27 

"^  His  wife  made  no  answer,  nor  did  she  unclose  her  eyes. 

"  Mother  is  very  sick  indeed  to-day,  father.  She  isn't 
able  to  talk  at  all,"  said  Dora,  firmly. 

"  Well,  you're  not  sick,  Miss  Pert.     Answer  for  her." 

"  I  can't.  It  disturbs  her  to  hear  talkin^:.  Do  sro 
away,  father,  and  take  these  men.     Poor  mother  !  " 

"  Just  tell  me  this,  Dora.  Did  a  man  come  here  this 
morning?"  persisted  Darley,  impatiently,  although  he 
lowered  his  voice,  and  cast  an  anxious  glance  at  his 
wife's  deathly  face. 

"A  man?  There's  no  one  about,  father,  but  mother 
and  me.     There's  no  man  here." 

"  Well,  but  there  has  been.  I  see  a  feller  come  in 
*long  o'  yer  old  nigger.  I  see  him  myself,"  broke  in 
Joe  Sykes,  pushing  himself  forward. 

Dora  glanced  scornfully  at  the  speaker,  and  made  no 
reply. 

-  "  Come,  Do,  tell  me  if  such  a  man  came,  and  who  he 
was,  and  where  he's  gone,  and  then  we  won't  plague 
you  and  mother  any  more,"  said  Darley,  in  the  coaxing 
tone  that  long  experience  had  taught  him  was  the  easiest 
method  of  reaching^  his  dauo-hter's  heart. 

"  There  was  a  man  came  to  the  door,  and  asked  for 
something  to  eat,  this  morning,  father.  I  gave  him 
something,  and  he  went  aAvay.  I  don't  know  where  he's 
gone,  or  who  he  was,  and  I  can't  tell  anything  more 
about  him.  Now,  please,  father,  will  you  take  these  men 
away,  and  let  poor  mother  rest  ?  " 


28  DORA  DAELING: 

"  Slie  don't  know  anything  about  him,"  said  Darley, 
turning  to  his  companions.  "  I  didn't  suppose  she  did  in 
the  first  place.     Come,  let's  quit." 

"  Well,  that  old  nigger  knows  ef  the  gal  don't,"  per- 
sisted Sykes.  "  He  wouldn't  ha'  been  so  sarcy  to  me  ef 
he  hadn't  know'd  somethin'  more'n  he  let  on.  Let's  go 
see  what  he  has  to  say  'bout  it." 

"  All  right.  You  may  talk  to  him  as  ha'sh  as  you're 
a  mind  to,"  said  Mr.  Darley,  leading  the  way  to  the 
door,  and  evidently  glad  to  relieve  his  wife  and  daughter 
of  the  annoyance  of  the  examination  by  shifting  it  to 
shoulders  so  well  used  to  burdens  as  those  of  poor  Picter. 

Left  alone,  Mrs.  Darley  broke  into  a  fit  of  convulsive 
weeping,  and  Dora  vainly  tried  to  co-mfort  her. 

While  she  was  still  bending  over  the  couch,  the  kitchen 
door  was  again  opened,  and  Darley's  voice  harshly  in- 
quired, — 

"  Where's  Picter,  Dora?  " 

"  I  don't  know  where  he  is,  father." 

"  Haven't  you  sent  him  away?  " 

"  No,  father,  I  have  not." 

"Well,  haven't  you,  Mary?  What  in  the  world  are 
you  crying  so  about  ?  " 

"  0,  father,  mother  is  very  sick  indeed.  How  can 
you  worry  her  so  ?  " 

Half  angry,  half  ashamed,  Mr.  Darley  drew  back  his 
head,  muttering  inaudibly  some  remark  about  a  "  saucy 
young  one,"  and  went  back  to  his  companions. 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  29 

After  a  short  consultation  all  tliree  rode  away  together, 
and  Dora  at  last  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  mother 
drop  into  a  troubled  sleep. 

This  lasted  until  about  four  o'clock,  when  Mr.  Darley 
returned  alone,  but  in  a  much  more  violent  mood  than 
he  had  been  at  noon.  He  had  been  drinking  pretty 
freely  with  his  companions,  who  had  not  spared  some 
taunts  as  to  his  being  afraid  of  his  wife  and  daughter, 
and  intimations  that  Mrs.  Darley  knew  very  well  where 
the  Yankee  officer  was,  and  might  be  made  to  tell  if  her 
husband  could  muster  sufficient  spirit  to  insist  upon  it. 

More  than  this,  Mr.  Darley  had  become  anxious  re- 
garding Picter's  prolonged  absence,  knowing,  as  he  did, 
his  wife's  wish  to  give  the  slave  his  freedom  ;  and  he  had 
returned  home  determined  to  learn  the  exact  truth  as  to 
the  occurrences  of  the  morning. 

The  invalid,  suddenly  aroused  from  sleep,  was  natu- 
rally nervous  and  bewildered ;  and  Mr.  Darley,  finding 
her  answers  still  less  satisfactory  than  in  the  morning, 
soon  became  very  angry  and  abusive.  Not  satisfied  with 
what  could  be  said  upon  the  subject  in  hand,  he  went 
back  to  various  matters  of  disagreement  between  himself 
and  his  wife  in  former  times,  principally  connected  with 
the  abolitionist  sentiments  that  Mrs.  Darley  had  occasion- 
ally expressed,  and  the  horror  she  had  not  concealed  at 
certain  cruelties  and  excesses  among  Mr.  Darley's  chosen 
friends  and  associates. 
3* 


30  DORA   DARLIXG: 

The  consequence  of  this  violence  Tvas,  that  the  sick 
woman  became  terribly  agitated,  and  was  finally  seized 
with  nervous  spasms,  that  seemed  likely  to  end  her  life  at 
once.  The  sight  of  her  sufferings,  and  Dora's  indignant 
expostulations,  at  last  aroused  a  feeling  of  shame  and 
remorse  in  the  husband's  nature,  and  he  hurried  away  to 
send  the  doctor,  and  to  bring  Mrs.  Wilson,  a  married 
sister  of  his  own,  who  lived  at  a  distance  of  two  miles. 

Before  they  arrived,  however,  the  invalid  had  grown 
so  much  calmer,  under  Dora's  eager  but  judicious  care, 
that  the  doctor,  after  attentively  examining  her  condition, 
merely  prescribed  a  composing  draught,  and  hurried 
away  to  another  patient.  As  Mr.  Darley  attended  him  to 
the  door,  however,  the  gruff  old  physician  briefly  said,  — 

"  That  woman'U  die  any  minute  —  go  right  out  like  a 
candle.  All  you  can  do  for  her  is  to  keep  her  quiet  and 
comfortable.     Don't  agitate  her  about  anything.'* 

Mr.  Darley  stood  on  the  doorstep,  looking  after  the 
doctor's  sulky,  with  a  very  uncomfortable  feeling  about 
his  throat.  He  was  really  as  fond  of  his  wife  as  a  selfish 
and  depraved  man  could  be  ;  he  had,  indeed,  been  passion- 
ately in  love  with  her  when  he  tempted  her  to  run  away 
from  her  father's  house  with  him,  and  the  doctor's  warn- 
ing sounded  to  him  very  much  like  a  reproach. 

Presently  he  went  quietly  into  the  house,  and  sat  down 
by  the  fire,  with  his  head  leaning  on  his  hand.  Dora, 
looking  keenly  at  him   as   she  went   in  and  out  of  the 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMEXT.  31 

bedroom,  pitied  her  father,  and  yet  could  not  but  be 
glad  at  the  thought  that  while  thus  preoccupied,  he 
would  not  be  likely  to  ask  any  more  questions  about 
Picter. 

Mrs.  Wilson,  a  sharp,  bustling,  managing  sort  of  wo- 
man, so  soon  as  she  arrived,  took  possession  of  the  inva- 
lid, and  ordered  everything  about  her  in  her  own  fashion. 
Sometimes  these  fashions  were  not  Dora's  ;  and  in  these 
cases  the  child  quietly  pursued  her  own  way,  in  spite  of 
her  aunt's  peremptory  advice  to  the  contrary. 

"  Mother  likes  it  this  w^ay,"  was  her  simple  reply 
when  her  aunt  crossly  inquired  why  she  had  altered  the 
arrangement  of  the  window  curtains  that  Mrs.  Wilson 
had  carefully  pinned  together,  and  that  Dora  now  looped 
back  to  admit  the  soft  western  light. 

"  Little  girls  shouldn't  think  they  know  more  than 
them  that's  older  than  they  be,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson, 
frowning. 

"  But  I  do  know  more  about  mother,  because  I'm  more 
used  to  her  than  any  one  else  is,"  said  Dora,  simply. 

"  Dora,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Darley,  feebly,  "  you've 
been  in  the  house  all  day.  Go  now  and  take  a  little  run 
while  aunt  sits  with  me.     Go  meet  Tom." 

"  I'd  rather  stay  with  you,  mother." 

"  Xo,  Dora  ;  I  want  you  to  go.     I  really  do." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will,"  said  the  child  ;  and  putting  a  little 
shawl  about  her,  she  stole  softly  out  at  the  back  door. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

About  a  mile  from  the  farm-house,  at  the  same  hour, 
and  coming  towards  it,  a  stout  lad  of  sixteen  years 
trudged  along  beside  his  ox-teara,  bending  low  his  head 
to  shield  it*in  some  measure  from  the  eddpng  ^Yhirls 
of  sand  dashed  into  his  eyes,  his  nose,  his  mouth,  and 
almost  through  his  very  skin  by  the  keen  north-east  wind 
that  came  sweeping  down  the  gorges  of  the  Alleghany 
Mountains,  driving  every  drifting  thing  before  it. 

Tom  Darley  —  for  it  was  he  —  stopped  and  turned  his 
back  for  a  moment,  and  while  he  wiped  his  eyes  upon 
the  sleeve  of  his  blue  frock,  said  aloud, — 

"  Pesky  wind !  Any  one  might  know  it  came  from 
Yankee  land,  it's  so  mean  and  ugly." 

Then,  somewhat  comforted  by  this  expression  of  his 
feelings,  he  ran  a  few  steps  to  overtake  the  oxen,  and 
walked  along  at  their  heads,  whistling  "  Dixie,"  while 
the  wind,  shrilly  piping  a  sort  of  gigantic  Yankee  Doodle, 
seemed  defying  the  boy  to  an  unequal  contest. 

Presently,  the  road,  after  skirting  a  high  hill,  the  low- 
est step,  in  fact,  of  the  mountain  range,  entered  a  little 
(32) 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REGIMENT.  33 

wood,  whose  close-set  evergreen  trees  made  a  very  effect- 
ual barrier  to  the  sweep  of  the  wind. 

Once  more  Tom  paused  to  draw  his  breath  and  wipe 
his  eyes,  and  was  again  moving  on,  when  a  little  figure 
suddenly  dropped  down  beside  him,  from  the  crest  of  a 
huge  bowlder  at  the  road-side. 

Tom  started  back  in  considerable  alarm.  His  first 
impression  was  of  a  panther  or  wildcat.  In  the  next 
moment  he  perceived  who  it  really  was,  and  exclaimed, — 

"  Hallo,  Do,  is  that  you?  How  came  you  here,  and 
what  makes  you  jump  out  on  a  fellow  that  way?  " 

"  I  came  to  meet  you,  Tom,"  said  Dora,  putting  her 
hand  caressingly  upon  his  arm. 

Such  a  movement  was  so  unusual  in  the  undemonstra- 
tive girl,  that  her  brother  looked  down  at  her  in  some 
surprise. 

"What's  the  matter  then?  You've  been  crjdng  — 
haven't  you,  little  goose?"  asked  he,  with  rough  kind- 
ness. 

"  O,  Tom,  there's  a  horrid  time  at  home,"  burst  out 
Dora,  and  then  stopped  with  her  lips  close  shut  together 
to  keep  down  the  rising  sob ;  for  whatever  Tom  might 
suspect,  Dora  would  have  suffered  almost  anything  before 
she  would  have  let  him  see  her  cry. 

"  "What's  up  now?  "  asked  Tom,  amxiously. 

''  Mother's  worse.     We've  had  the  doctor  !  " 

"  That's  too  bad.     I'm  real  sorry,  I  do  declare,"  said 


34  DORA   DARLIXG: 

the  boy  in  awkward  sorrow.     "  How  did  yon  come  to 
leave  her,  Dora  ?  " 

"  Aunt  Wilson 's  Avith  her,  and  she  sent  me  away.  She 
told  me  to  come  and  meet  yon.  I  reckon  she  wanted  to 
talk  to  aunt." 

The  brother  and  sister  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  little 
while.     Then  Dora  said,  mysteriously,  — 

"  And  Picter  s  gone.  Dear  old  Uncle  Pic  —  we  shan't 
have  him  to  play  wdth  us  ever  again." 

"Picter  gone!  "Where's  he  gone?"  asked  Tom, 
wonderingly. 

"  Mother  gave  him  leave  to  go,  only  you  mustn't  say 
anything  about  it  to  father." 

"  Gave  him  leave  to  run  away?  " 

"  Yes,  for  fear  of  father." 

"  Come,  Dora,  begin  at  the  beginning,  and  tell  me  your 
story.     I  can't  make  anything  of  it  this  way." 

So  Dora  did  as  she  was  bidden,  and  in  a  brief,  distinct 
manner  related  all  the  events  of  the  day.  The  only  thing 
she  omitted  to  mention  Avas  the  refuge  of  Picter  and  the 
captain.  This  she  concealed,  partly  because  the  cave  was 
Picter's  secret,  partly  because  she  did  not  quite  trust 
Tom's  sympathy  Avitli  the  fugitives,  and  his  first  Avords 
gave  her  reason  to  congratulate  herself  on  her  prudence. 

"  I  AA^sh  I  had  been  about  home  this  morning,"  said 
Tom,  bringing  doAvn  his  ox-goad  upon  poor  Bright's 
neck. 


THE   DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  35 

*'Why,  Tom?" 

"  I  guess  tliat  fellow  wouldn't  have  got  off  so  nicely." 

"  You  wouldn't  have  tried  to  give  him  up  to  be  put  in 
jail  and  kept  ever  so  many  years,  perhaps,  and  his  wound 
never  even  washed  —  would  you,  Tom?"  asked  Dora, 
indignantly. 

"  Of  course  I  would.  Ain't  he  a  Yankee?  and  ain't 
the  Yankees  trying  all  they  can  to  shut  our  men  up  in 
their  prisons,  or  kill  them  outright?  or  if  they  don't  do 
either  of  those,  to  make  slaves  of  us  here  at  home  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  it,  Tom,  and  I  don't  believe  you  know 
better  .than  mother  about  it.  And  she  did  all  she  could 
for  the  Yankee  captain." 

"  Mother's  a  first-rate  woman,  Dora,  and  I'll  lick  any 
fellow  that  says  there's  a  better  inside  the  state  line  ;  but, 
Do,  she's  a  woman,  and  women  don't  know  about  these 
things,  same  as  men  do." 

"  How  is  it  with  boys? "  asked  Dora,  slyly. 

*'  The  boys  hear  the  men  talk,  and  they  learn  the  right 
thing.  But  women  only  think  about  one  thing  at  a 
time  ;  and  if  a  man  has  curly  hair  and  a  cut  on  his  head, 
they'll  do  the  same  by  him  as  they  would  by  their  own 
brothers,  and  never  remember  that  this  very  fellow 
they're  nursing  and  cuddling  up  has  come  here  on  pur- 
pose to  kill  their  brothers." 

"  Well,  you  Avon't  try  to  get  them  taken  again  —  will 
you,  Tom?     You  know  I  told  you  for  a  secret." 


36  DORA  DARLING: 

Tom  walked  silently  on  for  a  while,  whistling  to  him- 
self, and  examining  the  end  of  his  goad  ;  at  last  he  said, 
rather  surlily,  — 

"  No,  I  don't  know  as  I  shall,  now  that  mother  has 
helped  them  off.  But  if  I'd  got  sight  of  that  fellow  this 
morning  —  " 

"  Never  mind  Avhat  you  would  have  done  if  something 
had  happened  that  didn't  happen.  You've  promised  not 
to  tell,  and  that's  all." 

"  No,  I  didn't  promise  not  to  tell.  I  said  I  wouldn't 
try  to  have  them  caught.  But  if  father  asks  me  if  I 
know  anything  about  it,  I  ain't  going  to  lie,  and  say  I 
don't." 

"  No,  of  course  you  can't,"  said  Dora,  sadly. 

"Besides,  I  think  father'd  ought  to  know  about  Pic," 
continued  Tom.  "  Mother's  had  her  way,  and  given  him 
his  liberty,  right  or  wrong,  and  I  think  father  had  at 
least  ought  to  be  told  how  he's  gone." 

"  Do  you?  "  asked  Dora,  thoughtfully. 

"  Of  course  I  do.  But  I  ain't  a  telltale,  nor  I  don't 
want  to  get  mother  and  you  into  trouble.  So  I  shan't 
say  anything  if  I  can  help  it,  and  maybe  mother  will 
make  up  h'er  mind  to  tell  for  herself.  I'd  be  glad  if  she 
would." 

"  Perhaps  she  will ;  but  she  can  tell  best  whether  she 
ought  to  or  not." 

To  this  the  young  advocate  of  male  supremacy  made 
no  reply,  and  presently  Dora  said,  — 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  liEGIMEXT.  37 

"  At  any  rate,  you  cau't  tell  where  they're  gone,  be- 
cause you  don't  know." 

"  That's  so,"  said  Tom  ;  "  and  I  wouldn't  advise  you 
to  tell  mc." 

^'I  ain't  going  to,"  returned  Dora,  shrewdly.  *' But 
here  Ave  are  at  home,  and  I  must  run  in  to  get  supper 
ready.     Come  in  as  quick  as  you  can." 

"  As  quick  as  I've  put  up  the  cattle  and  given  them 
their  supper.  After  that  I've  got  to  milk,  I  suppose. 
You  see  I  shall  have  to  do  Picter's  work  now,  besides 
my  own." 

"  I'll  help  you  all  I  can,"  said  Dora,  gayly,  as  she  ran 
into  the  house.  But  she  smiled  no  longer,  when,  on  en- 
tering the  house,  she  found  her  father  still  seated  by  the 
fireplace,  his  face  buried  in  his  hands,  while  her  aunt 
moved  about  the  kitchen  wdth  noisy  efforts  at  quiet,  mak- 
ing preparation  for  supper. 

"Well,  child,"  began  she,  when  Dora  appeared,  "you 
seem  to  take  it  easy,  any  w^ay.  Where've  you  been 
trapsing,  I'd  like  to  know,  and  who'd  ye  think  was  doing 
up  your  Avork  for  ye  ?  " 

"  Mother  told  me  to  go  and  meet  Tom,  and  I've  been," 
said  Dora,  quietly.  "  And  you  needn't  hav^  done  any- 
thing about  supper,  aunt ;  I  shall  have  it  all  ready  at 
six  o'clock." 

"  Massy  !  How  peart  we  be  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wil- 
son. "  You  know  a  heap  more  than  ever  your  granny 
did  —  don't  ye,  child?" 


38  DOHA   D  An  LING: 

To  this  address  Dora  made  no  reply,  but  went  steadily 
about  her  preparations  for  supper,  quietly  undoing,  as  she 
proceeded,  nearly  everything  her  aunt  had  done. 

Mrs.  Wilson,  after  grimly  watching  her  a  few  mo- 
ments, went  and  sat  down  by  her  brother. 

"John,"  began  she,  in  the  whining  and  high-pitched 
voice  many  persons  seem  to  consider  essential  to  the 
proper  treatment  of  mournful  or  religious  subjects,  — 
"  John,  I  suppose  you  know  there's  a  awful  visitation 
a  hanging  over  ye.  Mary  ain't  no  better  than  a  dead 
woman,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  a  mite  if  she  was  took 
afore  another  morning." 

Mr.  Darley  groaned  aloud. 

"  Yes,  I  know  it's  awful,"  recommenced  his  com- 
forter, "to  be  took  right  out  o'  your  warm  bed  as  it 
might  be,  and  buried  up  in  the  cold  ground.  It  makes 
a  body's  flesh  creep  to  think  on't ;  now  don't  it?  But 
then  it's  what  we've  all  got  to  come  to.  There  ain't  no 
gittin'  red  on't,  do  what  you  will.  It's  her  turn  to- 
day, and  it  may  be  your'n  or  mine  to-morrow.  It's  an 
awful  judgment,  sartain." 

During  this  speech  Dora  had  stood  motionless,  her 
eyes  fixed,  half  in  horror,  half  in  surprise,  upon  her  aunt's 
face.  When  she  had  done,  she  came  up  to  her  father, 
and  putting  her  arms  about  his  neck,  said  softly,  — 

"  It  won't  be  mother  that  will  die  and  be  buried  up  in 
the  ground,  father  dear.     It  will  only  just  be  her  body, 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  EEGIMEXT.  39 

and  her  soul  is  going  to  live  in  heaven  with  Jesus.  And 
if  we  do  just  as  well  as  ever  we  can,  we  shall  go  there 
too,  when  God  is  willing  to  let  us,  and  perhaps  see  her 
again." 

"  Child,  who  told  you  this?  "  asked  the  father,  hoarsely. 

"  Mother  told  me  ;  and  it  is  all  true,  every  word  of 
it,  for  she  read  it  out  of  the  Bible  to  me,"  said  Dora, 
triumphantly. 

Mr.  Darley,  without  uncovering  his  face,  laid  one  arm 
about  the  child's  waist.  It  was  the  first  time  that  Dora 
remembered  such  an  act ;  for  besides  her  own  shy  and 
reserved  habits,  she  had  for  a  year  or  tAvo  plainly  shown 
by  manner,  if  not  by  words,  her  shame  and  indignation 
at  her  father  s  intemperate  and  violent  habits. 

Occasionally,  too,  he  had  ill-treated  her  mother,  when 
angry  and  intoxicated  ;  and  this  was  something  that  Dora 
could  scarcely  endure  in  silence.  Mr.  Darley  had  seen 
and  resented  this  silent  protest  on  the  part  of  his  ovra 
child,  and  after  a  while  the  father  and  daughter  had 
come  to  have  as  little  as  possible  to  do  with  each  other. 

Xow,  however,  all  this  was  forgotten  in  the  common 
sorrow  that  had  fallen  upon  them  ;  and  as  Dora  felt  her 
father's  arm  about  her  waist,  she  drew  his  head  upon  her 
bosom,  and  kissed  his  forehead. 

Mrs.  Wilson's  harsh  voice  indignantly  interposed. 

"  Well,  brother,  I  must  say,  if  you're  going  to  let  a 
saucy  young  one  like  that  teach  you  religion,  you're  a 


40  DOHA  DARLIXG. 

bigger  fool  than  I  take  you  for.  My  sakes  !  I'd  like  to 
catch  one  of  my  gals  speaking  up  to  me  the  way  she's 
done  ever  since  I  stepped  my  foot  inside  o'  that  door. 
She's  reg'lar  spilte,  that  child  is  ;  an'  I  guess  you'll  find 
your  hands  full  when  you  come  to  have  her  on  'em  all 
alone." 

At  this  moment  the  feeble  voice  of  the  invalid  was 
heard  calling  Dora,  and  the  child  sprang  away  to  obey 
the  summons. 


CHAPTER    V. 

After  supper,  Mrs.  Wilson  said  that  she  must  go 
home  for  a  while,  but  would  come  back  and  stay  the 
nin-ht  with  her  sister-in-law,  who,  she  again  prophesied, 

o 

might  "  drop  off  most  any  minute." 

No  one  opposed  her  departure.  In  fact,  Dora  and 
Tom  watched  it  with  silent  joy,  while  their  father  hardly 

noticed  it. 

So  soon  as  the  evening  work  was  done,  the   children 
went  in  to  sit  with  their  mother.     Mrs.  Darley  seemed 
very    much  better.       Her  cheeks    burned  with  a  hectic 
color,  and  her  eyes  were  bright  with  fever.     She  felt 
strong  enough  to  sit  up  in  her  bed  with  pillows  behind 
her,  and  Tom  rather  boisterously  expressed  his  delighted 
belief  that  she  was  "  going  to  get  smart  again  right  off." 
Dora  said  nothing,  but  her  face  was  very  pale,  her 
eyes  very  large   and  bright,  her  lips  very  firmly  shut. 
She  had  watched   the  different  stages  of  her  mother's 
disease,  too  narrowly  to  be   deceived.      Nor  did  Mrs. 
Darley  herself  believe  for  a  moment  that  this  sudden 
rally  was  other  than  a  fatal  symptom.     She  knew  that 
her  hour  had  come,  and  she  was  ready  to  meet  it  with 
4  *  (41) 


42  DOE  A   DARLIXGr 

Christian  hope  and  trust.  But  she  was  very  glad  that 
this  temporary  strength  had  been  given  her,  for  she  had 
many  things  to  say  to  her  children,  and  had  feared  that 
she  should  not  be  able. 

She  spoke  first  to  them  of  the  subjects  most  important 
at  all  times,  and  now  naturally  uppermost  in  her  own 
mind.  She  tried  her  very  best  to  make  them  feel  that 
the  approaching  change  she  was  to  undergo  was  neither 
a  misfortune  nor  a  punishment,  but  a  sure  and  blessed 
change  from  a  world  of  sin  and  sorrow  to  one  all  joy 
and  peace,  for  such  as  were  fitted  for  it. 

She  spoke  long  and  earnestly  upon  these  matters,  and 
neither  of  her  young  hearers  ever  quite  forgot  the  solemn 
and  beautiful  truths  she  uttered. 

But  the  mother  did  not  forget  that  she  was  to  leave  her 
children  in  this  Avorld,  perhaps  for  many  years,  and  she 
desired  to  point  out  for  them  that  path  through  its  perils 
that  seemed  to  her  the  safest." 

"Is  the  door  closed,  Tom?"  asked  she,  hesitatingly, 
after  a  short  silence. 

"  Yes,  mother,"  said  the  boy. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,  Tom,  that  when  I  am  gone, 
and  when  your  father  knows  that  Uncle  Pic  is  gone  for 
always,  he  will  very  likely  enter  the  army." 

"Perhaps  so,  mother,"  said  Tom,  leaning  his  arm 
against  the  wall,  and  hiding  his  face  upon  it. 

"  Perhaps  he  will  want  you  to  go  too,  my  dear  boy, 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMEXT.  43 

and  I  have  always  taught  you  to  obey  your  father  above 
all  things,  except  to  obey  God." 

"  I  know  it,  mother,"  sobbed  poor  Tom. 

"  And  I  say  the  same  now,"  continued  the  mother, 
feebly,  for  her  strength  was  failing.  "  But  O,  my  dear 
boy,  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  your  joining  these  rebels. 
Remember  that  I  was  a  New  England  girl.  I  lived  for 
twenty  years  among  free  men,  and  I  have  never  learned 
to  love  slavery. 

"  I  have  a  sister — at  least  I  had  ;  but  it  is  a  great  many 
years  since  I  heard  from  her.  In  fact,  I  never  had  but 
one  letter,  and  that  was  just  after  I  came  here.  I  cried 
so  much  over  that,  and  was  so  homesick  for  Aveeks  after- 
wards, that  I  think  your  father  destroyed  any  others  that 
came.  At  least,  I  wrote  and  wrote,  and  never  got  an 
answer.  I  never  dared  write  to  my  father,  for  Lucy 
told  me  how  terribly  angry  he  was  when  I  ran  away. 
But,  Tom,  if  you  and  Dora  could  go  to  her,  I  know  she 
Avould  give  my  children  a  home,  and  put  you  both  in 
the  way  of  doing  something  better  than  to  fight  for  a  re- 
bellion. 

'•  That  letter,  Dora,  is  in  my  bureau  drawer,  at  the 
bottom  of  the  little  box  where  I  keep  my  trinkets.  All 
that  I  have  of  such  things,  dear,  are  yours  now.  Take 
the  letter,  and  keep  it.  Perhaps  some  day  it  will  help 
you  to  find  your  aunt  Lucy.  I  cannot  tell  either  of  you 
to  leave  your  father,  if  he  will  keep  you  with  him  ;  but 
YOU  know  now  what  I  wish. 


44  DOHA   DAELING: 

"  I  had  rather,  Tom,  that  you  died  fighting  for  freedom, 
than  lived  and  rose  to  the  highest  rank  in  the  rebel  army. 

"Dora,  comfort  and  darling  of  my  life,  I  could  die 
content  if  I  only  knew  that  you  would  grow  up  in  the 
home  of  a  good  and  pious  New  England  woman,  such  as 
I  am  sure  my  sister  is. 

"  Now  kiss  me,  my  darlings,  kiss  me  once  again,  — 
and  once  again,  —  and  then  ask  your  poor  father  to  come 
in  and  see  me,  while  you  stay  out  there.  And,  Dora,  if 
aunt  Wilson  comes  back,  ask  her  to  please  to  sit  down 
with  you  a  little  while.     I  want  to  see  father  all  alone." 

The  children  obeyed,  and  for  the  next  hour  no  sound 
was  heard  in  the  kitchen  except  Tom's  heavy  sobs,  as  he 
lay  stretched  upon  the  settle,  crying  out  his  last  boy's 
tears,  the  loud  ticking  of  the  clock,  and  the  low  murmur 
of  voices  from  the  bedroom. 

Up  and  down  the  kitchen  softly  paced  Dora's  little 
figure,  her  face  white  as  ashes,  except  where  dark  rings 
had  formed  beneath  her  eyes,  her  hands  knotted  and 
twisted  in  each  other,  her  lips  pressed  firmly  together, 
her  unswerving  gaze  bent  steadily  before  her.  It  was  a 
dumb  anguish,  as  rare  as  strange  in  a  child's  heart,  or 
on  a  child's  face. 

Thus  did  Mrs.  Wilson  find  her  when  she  returned,  and 
even  her  coarse  nature  recoiled  from  a  grief  so  terrible 
and  so  uncomplaining. 

She   went   softly  towards   the  bedroom   door.     Dora 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  45 

interposed,  and  pointing  to  a  chair,  said,  in  a  low,  strange 
voice,  — 

"  Mother  is  talking  with  father,  now.  Please  to  sit 
down  until  he  comes  out.     She  said  so." 

Mrs.  Wilson  silently  obeyed,  and  taking  out  a  spotted 
red  and  white  cotton  pocket  handkerchief,  she  began  to 
cry  in  a  snuffling,  demonstrative  manner. 

So  passed  another  hour,  and  then  Mr.  Darley  opened 
the  bedroom  door,  and  said,  in  a  choked  voice,  — 

"  Come,  children  ;   come  sister  :  she's  going." 

Midnight  closed  the  scene.  A  mortal  had  died  to 
earth,  an  an^el   been  born  to  heaven. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

The  day  after  Mrs.  Darley's  funeral,  her  sister-in-law 
made  her  ajopearance  at  the  farm-house  with  a  mind 
made  up  to  business. 

"  Well,  John,"  began  she,  as  soon  as  the  preliminary 
greetings  were  over,  "  Cephas  says  you  told  him  this 
morning  you  was  going  to  enlist.     Is  that  so?  " 

"  "Well,  yes,  I  think  some  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Darley, 
slowly.     "  You  see  Picter's  gone." 

"  Hain't  you  never  heerd  nothing  from  that  nigger?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Wilson,  indignantly. 

"  No  ;  nor  I  don't  expect  to,"  returned  her  brother, 
concealing  what  he  really  did  know,  from  an  instinctive 
desire  to  avoid  the  comments  Mrs.  Wilson  would  be  sure 
to  make  upon  his  wife's  conduct. 

"  H'm.  Run  away,  I  suppose,"  suggested  the  lady. 
"  Like  enough  it  was  he  helped  off  that  Yankee  officer 
that  they  was  looking  for  round  here.  Joe  Sykes  said 
all  along  he  knew  'twas  him  that  he  see  cutting  acrost 
from  the  barn  to  the  house  here.  On'y  Mary  was  so 
sick  that  day  that  there  wan't  no  good  asking  questions 
of  her  nor  the  gal." 
(46) 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMEXT.  47 

"  Yes,  we'd  something  else  to  care  for,  before  anothei 
morning,  than  Yankees  or  niggers  either,"  said  Darley, 
gloomily. 

"  But,"  pursued  Mrs.  Wilson,  "  that  ain't  what  we 
was  saying.  If  you've  made  up  your  mind  to  jine  the 
army,  what  you  going  to  do  with  the  children  ?  " 

"  Well,  I've  thought  about  that  too,"  returned  her 
brother ;  "  and  I've  concluded  to  take  Tom  along  with 
me.  He's  sixteen  years  old,  I  believe,  and  as  stout  and 
handy  as  any  man.  He'll  do  first  rate,  and  I  shall  keep 
him  under  my  own  hand." 

"But  the  gal,  brother ? " 

"  Well,  I  some  thought  of  asking  you  to  take  her, 
Polly.  She's  smart  as  a  steel  trap,  and  can  earn  her 
salt  anywheres  —  " 

"  She's  too  smart  for  me  by  half,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Wil- 
son. "  A  sassier  young  one  I  never  did  see  ;  but  it's 
partly  the  fault  of  her  bringing  up,  and  she  hadn't  ought 
to  be  give  over  without  a  try.  I  expected  you'd  say 
just  w^hat  you  have  said,  John  ;  and  I'll  tell  you  plain 
just  what  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  do. 

'•  I  ain't  a  going  to  have  no  half-way  works  noAv.  I 
ain't  a  going  to  have  the  gal  come  to  my  house  to  be 
company,  and  set  with  her  hands  in  her  lap  all  day.  Nor 
I  ain't  a  going  to  have  her,  at  the  fust  quick  word,  fly  up 
into  my  face  like  a  young  wildcat.  Nor  yet  I  ain't  going 
to  have  her,  just  as  I've  got  her  broke  in  and  trained 


48  DOnA  DARLING: 

some,  go  kiting  off  to  live  long  o'  some  one  else,  whether 
it's  you  or  another. 

"  Now,  what  I'll  do  is  this.  I'll  take  the  child,  and 
treat  her  just  'xactly  like  my  own  gals  from  fust  to  last ; 
and  I  shall  have  just  the  same  power  over  her  as  I  have 
over  them.  I'll  do  well  by  her,  and  I'll  make  her  do 
well  by  me,  if  I  know  myself." 

"  Well,  sister,  that's  a  good  offer,  and  I  thank  you 
kind  for  it,  I'm  sure,"  began  Mr.  Darley ;  but  his  sister 
interrupted  him. 

"  Wait  a  bit,"  said  she,  dryly  ;  "  I  ain't  one  of  them 
as  does  something  for  nothing,  quite.  It's  a  resky  busi- 
ness and  a  costly  business,  this  bringing  up  a  gal,  and 
doing  for  her,  and  I'm  a  poor  woman.  But  if  you'll  give 
me  your  house'l  stuff  to  boot,  and  Mary's  clothes  and 
fallals,  why,  I'll  say  done." 

"You  mean  all  that's  in  the  house  here?"  asked 
Darley. 

"  Yes  ;  'tain't  much,  nor  'twouldn't  fetch  much  at  auc- 
tion, 'specially  these  times  ;  but  some  of  it'd  come  awful 
handy  over  to   our  house,  and   some  on't  I  could  store 
away  against  the  gals  get  merried.     Dora'U  come  in  for  - 
her  full  share,  you  may  depend." 

"Yes,  she'd  ought  to  do  that,"  said  Mr.  Darley,  re- 
luctantly. "  And  as  for  Mary's  clothes,  why,  I  think 
the  child  had  ought  to  have  them,  any  way." 

"  And  so  she  shall,  some  of  them ;  but  there's  some 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMEXT.  49 

that  -(vouldn't  suit  her  no  way,  though  they'd  do  fust  rate 
for  me.  Men  don't  know  nothing  about  sech  thin^-s,  and 
you'd  better  leave  it  all  to  me.  I  shan't  wrong  the  gal, 
you  may  depend." 

"  No,  Polly,  I  don't  s'pose  you  would.  ISTobody'd  be 
like  to  wrong  a  poor  little  motherless  gal  that  was  their 
own  flesh  and  blood.  But  I'm  afraid  Dora'll  kind  o'  miss 
home  fashions.  She's  been  used  to  having  her  own  way, 
pretty  much,  here  at  home,  especially  since  her  mother's 
been  laid  up." 

**  Yes  ;  and  in  another  year  she'd  ha'  been  spilte  out- 
right. It's  a  chance,  now,  if  she  can  be  brought  round." 
"  O,  I  guess  tain't  quite  so  bad  as  that,  Polly,"  said 
Mr.  Darley,  good-humor edly.  "  I  guess  she's  a  pretty 
good  sort  of  a  gal  yet.  And  I  ain't  going  to  give  her  up 
neither.  When  my  time's  out  I  shall  come  and  board 
with  you.     You'll  agree  to  take  me  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  assented  Mrs.  Wilson,  somewhat 
ungraciously. 

*'  And  if  I  should  ever  get  a  home  again,  marrying  or 
any  other  way,  why,  I  shall  want  her  back  ;  and,  since 
you're  so  sharp,  I'll  agree  to  let  you  keep  all  the  stuff  you 
get  with  her,  and,  maybe,  give  you  a  present  to  boot." 

"  Well,  we  can  talk  about  that  when  the  time  comes," 
said  Mrs.  Wilson.     "  It's  all  settled  now." 

"  Yes,  I  reckon,"  assented  her  brother,  rather  doubt- 
fuUy. 


50  DOHA  DARLIKG: 

At  this  moment  a  light  foot  came  down  the  stairs  into 
the  kitchen,  and  Dora  herself  appeared,  looking  very  pale 
and  worn,  but  quite  calm.  She  greeted  her  aunt  quietly, 
and  went  about  some  little  household  matter  in  her  usual 
steady  manner. 

"  Come  here,  my  gal,"  said  her  father,  holding  ovt  his 
hand. 

She  went  directly  and  stood  beside  him,  her  slender 
hand  resting  lightly  upon  his  shoulder.  He  put  his  arm 
kindly  about  her. 

"  Here's  your  aunt,  Dora,  is  going  to  let  you  come  and 
live  with  her,  while  Tom  and  I  are  gone  to  the  war. 
She's  going  to  be  real  good  and  kind  to  you,  and  you'll 
be  the  best  girl  that  ever  was  to  her ;  now  won't  you, 
Dora?" 

The  child's  face  grew  paler  still,  and  her  eyes  lifted 
themselves  sharply  to  her  aunt's  face.  She  read  there  no 
more  promise  than  she  had  expected. 

"How  long  am  I  to  stay  there,  father?"  asked  she, 
moving  a  little  closer  to  his  side. 

"  0,  I  don't  know,"  returned  Mr.  Darley,  evasively. 
"  I  expect  I  shall  stay  in  the  army  till  they  fight  it  out ; 
and  that  won't  be  to-morrow,  nor  next  week." 

"  And  when  you  are  through,  you  will  come  for  me 
again  ?  "  questioned  Dora. 

Mr.  Darley  hesitated,  and  his  sister  answered  for 
him, — 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  nEGIMEyT.  51 

"  Now,  John,  Avhat's  the  use  of  licking  the  devil  round 
the  stump  that  way?  The  gal  might  as  well  know  fust 
as  last  that  she's  coming  to  me  for  good  and  all.  Your 
mother's  dead,  Dora,  and  'tain't  likely  your  father'll  be 
settled  ag'in,  —  at  any  rate,  not  right  away,  —  and  he's 
give  you  to  me,  to  do  for  just  as  if  you  was  my  own  ; 
and  that's  all  about  it." 

AYithout  a  w^ord,  Dora  turned  away  and  went  into  her 
mother's  bedroom,  closing  and  buttoning  the  door  after 
her.  There,  all  alone,  upon  the  bed  where  her  dear 
mother  had  died,  she  silently  wept  the  first  tears  she  had 
shed  since  that  loss  came  upon  her.  But  hers  were  not 
the  tears  that  soften  and  comfort  tender  hearts  ;  they 
were  bitter,  despairing,  tears,  and  they  left  her  who  shed 
them  determined  and  desperate. 

"  I  was  afraid  she  wouldn't  like  it,"  said  Mr.  Darley, 
in  a  tone  of  regret,  when  he  was  alone  with  his  sister. 

"  Temper,  that's  all,"  replied  Mrs.  Wilson,  sharply. 
••  She's  spilte,  and  that's  all  that's  to  be  said.  But  she'll 
come  to  after  a  while,  when  she  finds  she  can't  help 
herself." 

"Maybe;  but  you  ain't  going" to  be  ha'sh  with  the 
child,  Polly.  I  won't  have  that,"  said  the  father,  anx- 
iously. 

"  Don't  you  worry.  I  shan't  eat  her  up,  you  needn't 
believe,"  snified  the  indignant  matron  ;  and  Mr.  Darley 
tried  to  think  all  was  satisfactorily  arranged. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

A  FEW  weeks  more,  and  Mr.  Darley's  arrangements 
for  selling  liis  farm  and  stock  had  been  made,  and  lie 
had  enlisted  with  his  son  in  the  rebel  army. 

Tom  had  not  forgotten  his  mother's  last  wishes  ;  but 
although  he  was  extremely  fond  of  her,  and  had  been 
very  much  affected  by  her  death,  he  still  secretly  held  the 
idea  common  to  the  class  of  men  with  whom  he  had  been 
bred,  that  a  woman's  opinions  upon  matters  of  public 
interest  were  hardly  worth  the  attention  of  the  sterner 
sex,  and  were  necessarily  feeble  and  one-sided.  He  did 
not  now  express  this  opinion  to  Dora,  through  respect 
for  his  mother's  memory ;  but  she  perceived  that  he 
still  held  it,  and  was  secretly  indignant  with  him  for  do- 
ing so. 

Then,  Tom  had  his  father's  direct  command  to  oppose 
to  his  mother's  conditional  wishes,  and  she  had  distinctly 
said  that  she  would  not  have  him  disobey  his  father  ;  but 
perhaps  more  than  all  the  rest,  Tom,  who  was  as  ardent 
and  as  ignorant  a  politician  as  most  lads,  sided  strongly, 
in  his  own  mind,  with  the  secessionists. 

Part  of  all  this  argument  in  favor  of,  enlisting  beside 
52 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  53 

his  father,  the  boy  repeated  to  his  sister  as  they  were 
returning  from  a  long  Sunday  afternoon  walk  a  few  days 
before  the  sale  of  the  old  home. 

Dora  listened  attentively,  and  without  interruption,  till 
he  had  finished.     Then  she  said,  — 

"  Well,  Tom,  you  must  do  as  you  like,  or  rather  as 
you  think  you  ought  to,  and  I  shall  do  the  same." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Dora?  What  can  you  do  except 
to  stay  quiet  with  aunt  Wilson  till  we  get  back  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  stay  with  aunt  Wilson  a  great 
while,"  said  Dora,  quietly. 

"  But  you  must,  poor  little  Do,"  said  her  brother, 
compassionately.  ''  I  don't  suppose  it  will  be  very  jolly, 
and  I'm  afraid  you'll  miss  the  old  home  a  good  deal. 
But  you  stay  quiet,  like  a  good  girl,  ^11  I  get  back,  and 
if  aunt  Wilson  don't  treat  you  well,  I'll  —  " 

He  paused  a  little,  doubtfully,  and  a  quick  smile  shot 
across  the  little  pale  face  beside  him. 

"  What  will  you  do  to  aunt  Wilson  if  she  don't  treat 
me  well?  "  asked  Dora,  merrily. 

"  Well,  I  can't  do  much  to  her,  maybe,  but  I'll  give 
her  boy  Dick  the  darnedest  licking  he  ever  got  in  his  life, 
I'll  be  bound." 

Dora  laughed  outright. 

"  You    dear   old   Tom,"    said  she,   "  and  what  good 
would  that  do  me  ?     Do  you  think  aunt  would  treat  me 
any  the  better  for  it  ?  '* 
5* 


54  DORA   DAELIXG: 

"  Well,  it  would  do  me  some  good  if  it  didix't  you," 
muttered  Tom,  half  ashamed  of  his  comical  threat. 

"  No,  dear  Tom,"  continued  Dora,  while  the  smile 
died  off  her  face,  and  gave  place  to  the  look  of  patient 
sternness,  if  it  may  so  be  called,  that  was  fast  becoming 
habitual  to  it ;  "  such  ways  as  that  are  only  good  to 
laugh  about.  But  I  know  just  as  well  as  I  want  to  thai 
I  shan't  be  able  to  live  at  aunt  Wilson's,  though  I'm 
going  to  try  a  little  while,  because  it's  father  that's  put 
me  there.     And  if  I  find  that  I  can't  stand  it  —  " 

"  Well,  what  will  you  do  then,  poor  little  girl?  "  asked 
Tom. 

"  I  don't  just  know  myself,"  said  Dora,  thoughtfully  ; 
"  and  if  I  did,  I  don't  think  I  should  tell  you,  because 
you  might  try  to  stop  me  ;  but  I  shall  contrive  some  way 
or  other  to  get  to  Massachusetts,  and  find  mother's  sister 
that  she  told  us  of." 

"Aunt  Lucy?  Yes,  I  remember.  Did  you  find  the 
letter  mother  told  about  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  exclaimed  Dora,  indignantly.  "  Aunt  Wil- 
son went  and  took  all  the  things  out  of  the  drawers  the 
very  day  after  the  funeral ;  and  I  suppose  she  read  the 
letter,  and  then  burnt  it  up,  for  when  I  asked  her  about 
it  she  wouldn't  tell  me,  nor  she  wouldn't  let  me  look 
among  mother's  things.  She  has  taken  all  that  was  in 
the  bureau,  and  carried  it  off  to  her  own  house." 
"What,  to  keep?" 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REGIMEXT.  55 

"  I  suppose  SO.  She  told  me  everything  that  was  in 
the  house  was  hers  now,  and  I  had  no  more  right  to 
meddle  with  anything  than  any  one  else  had." 

"  But  mother  said  that  all  she  had  was  yours  ! "  ex- 
claimed Tom,  indignantly. 

"  I  know  it.  I  don't  care  for  clothes,  nor  ribbons,  and 
such  things  ;  but  I  should  have  liked  to  have  them  be- 
cause they  were  mother's,  and  I  dare  say  I  should  have 
given  almost  all  of  them  to  aunt.  I  would  only  have 
cared  to  keep  the  things  I  have  seen  mother  wear  most. 
But  now  I  haven't  anything  at  all  to  call  my  own." 

"  It's  awful  mean,  and  I  ain't  going  to  stand  it,"  said 
Tom,  wrathfuUy  ;  "  I'll  talk  to  father  about  it." 

"  No,  Tom,  there's  no  use  in  that.  Father  knows, 
and  he  thinks  it's  all  right,  or  else  he  can't  help  it.  He 
couldn't  do  anything,  and  there's  no  good  in  getting  him 
into  a  quarrel  with  aunt  Wilson.  Don't  worry.  I  shall 
take  care  of  myself  some  way.  I'm  used  to  it,  you  know. 
As  for  the  things,  I  don't  care  much  ;  but  I  wish  I  could 
get  hold  of  that  letter." 

"  O,  Ma'am  Spite  burnt  it  up,  I  reckon,  just  because 
she  thought  you'd  like  to  have  it." 

At  this  moment  the  children  reached  home,  and  the 
conversation  ended. 

A  few  days  after,  the  farm  and  stock  were  sold  at 
auction,  and  Mr.  Darley,  with  Tom,  set  out  for  the  town 
of  Monterey,  where  he  intended  volunteering. 


66  DORA   DAELIXG: 

Dora  went  home  with  her  aunt,  who  had  caused  all 
the  furniture  of  the  Darley  homestead  to  be  removed  to 
her  own  house,  where,  as  she  had  said  to  her  brother,  it 
added  very  much  to  the  somewhat  scanty  comfort  of  her 
arrangements. 

For  a  day  or  two  matters  went  very  peacefully,  Mrs. 
Wilson,  feeling,  perhaps,  some  touch  of  pity  for  the  moth- 
erless child,  forbore  to  press  her  either  with  labor  or 
discipline  ;  and  Dora,  on  the  other  hand,  exerted  herself 
to  do  all  she  could,  and  in  the  way  that  she  supposed 
most  likely  to  be  agreeable  to  her  aunt. 

But  at  last  came  Monday,  that  terrible  day  to  the 
households  of  short-tempered  wives  who  have  their  own 
work  to  do.  Jane  and  Louisa,  Mrs.  "Wilson's  daughters, 
always  cased  themselves,  upon  Monday  morning,  in  a 
triple  armor  of  sullen  endurance  and  covert  opposition  to 
their  mother's  tyranny,  promising  themselves  and  each 
other  to  escape  from  it  at  the  very  earliest  opportunity. 

On  this  particular  Monday  Mrs.  Wilson  contrived  to 
make  herself  more  disagreeable  and  oppressive  than 
usual.  Nothing  done  by  Jane,  Louisa,  or  Dora  was 
well  done.  Each  in  turn  found  herself  reproached  with 
laziness,  stupidity,  and  that  most  comprehensive  of 
household  crimes,  called  "  shiftlessness." 

The  daughters,  well  hardened  to  this  periodical  out- 
pouring of  sentiment,  bore  it,  as  usual,  in  sulky  silence, 
varied  with  gestures,  glances,  muttered  comments,  and 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REGIMEXT,  57 

when  their  mother  was  absent,  with  open  expressions  of 
discontent  and  rebellion. 

But  Dora,  accustomed  to  her  own  mother's  mild  and 
affectionate  rule,  to  commands  so  gentle  that  they  seemed 
like  requests,  and  to  an  authority  as  undoubted  as  it  was 
unobtrusive,  looked  on  at  her  aunt's  domestic  manage- 
ment with  undisguised  astonishment,  merged  in  silent 
but  indignant  protest  as  she  found  herself  becoming  an 
equal  sharer  with  her  cousins  in  their  mother's  abuse. 
She  Avas  silent,  to  be  sure,  and,  as  the  day  passed  on, 
grew  still  more  so  ;  nor  did  she  join  in  any  of  the  muti- 
nous gestures  and  whispered  comments  that  sufficed  for 
the  relief  of  the  other  girls  ;  but  one  accustomed  to  her 
face  and  manner  would  have  read  in  the  kindling  eyes, 
pallid  cheeks,  and  rigid  mouth  a  gathering  storm,  wheth- 
er of  grief  or  anger,  as  much  beyond  the  usual  scope  of 
a  twelve  years'  temper  as  was  the  power  of  concealing  it. 

Evening  came.  Jane  and  Louisa  cleared  away  the 
supper  dishes,  and  put  the  cheerless  kitchen  to  rights, 
while  Dora,  under  her  aunt's  supervision,  folded  and 
sprinkled  the  clothes. 

A  large  sheet  came  under  the  child's  hands,  and  rather 
than  ask  help  of  her  aunt,  who  had  left  her  for  a  moment, 
she  attempted  to  fold  it  alone,  succeeding,  as  she  thought, 
very  well ;  but  just  as  she  was  laying  it  in  the  basket 
Mrs.  Wilson  returned,  and  catching  it  out  again,  flung  it 
on  the  taL'le. 


58  DORA   DARLING: 

*'  What  sort  o'  way  to  fold  ?.  sheet's  that?  "  asked  she, 
contemptuously ;  "  you're  so  plaguy  smart  I  s'pose  you 
couldn't  wait  for  me  to  take  holt  o'  the  end,  and  so  ye 
just  wabbed  it  up  any  way,  to  call  it  dbne.  I  don't  think 
much  o'  slickin'  over  Avork  that  way.  It's  my  fashion  to 
go  through  it." 

Dora  made  no  reply  ;  but  as  her  aunt  unrolled,  with 
a  jerk,  the  smoothly  folded  sheet,  she  took  hold  of  one 
end,  and  helped  to  refold  it.  This  was  nearly  done, 
when,  with  a  snap  and  a  jerk,  intended  to  straighten  it, 
Mrs.  Wilson  twitched  the  sheet  out  of  Dora's  hands,  and 
it  fell  upon  the  dii'ty  floor  between  them. 

"  You  great  fool !"  shouted  Mrs.  Wilson  ;  and  catch- 
ing up  the  sheet  with  both  hands,  she  struck  Dora  a 
swinging  blow  with  it  in  her  face. 

"  Ye  did  that  o'  purpose,  ye  know  ye  d^'d,  'cause  you 
was  mad  at  having  to  fold  it  over." 

"  I  did  not,"  said  Dora's  voice,  in  an  ominous  tone, 
while  her  eyes  were  raised  steadily  to  her  aunt's  face. 

"  Say  I  lie,  do  ye !  "  screamed  the  angry  woman. 
"You  impudent  trollop,  I'll  teach  ye  to  sarce  me  that 
way.  You  open  your  head  agin,  an'  see  if  ye  don't  get 
fits." 

To  this  Dora  made  no  reply  in  words,  but  her  looks 
were  too  expressive  to  be  misunderstood,  and  her  aunt, 
after  a  moment's  pause,  continued,  — 

"  Now  I  ain't  a  goin'  to  have  ye  stand  there  lookin'  as 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  59 

if  ye'd  eat  me  up.  I  can  tell  ye  what  it  is,  miss,  the  best 
thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  go  right  ter  work  and  unlarn  all 
them  pretty  Avays  ye've  been  brought  up  in.  They  won't 
set  well  here,  I  can  tell  ye.  Yer  mother  was  as  weak  as 
water,  and  as  silly  about  you  as  a  hen  with  one  chick  ; 
but  I  ain't  no  sech  a  fool." 

"  My  mother  was  not  a  fool,  nor  silly,  nor  weak.  You 
don't  know  anything  about  her,  and  I  wish  you  wouldn't 
talk  about  her,"  said  Dosa,  firmly  and  quietly. 

"  Hity-tity,  ma'am !  "  cried  Mrs.  Wilson,  furiously. 
"  Do  ye  know  who  yer  talkin'  to?  Do  ye  see  that  'ere 
stick  over  the  fireplace  ?  Well,  I  can  tell  ye  now  that 
you  and  it  will  be  like  to  git  putty  well  acquainted  be- 
fore many  more  minits,  ef  ye  don't  down  on  yer  knees 
and  beg  my  pardon.  Tell  ye  what,  gal,  I'm  bound  to 
tame  ye  down  ;  that's  partly  what  I  took  ye  for,  and  it's 
jest  as  well  to  begin  now  as  any  time.  We'll  soon  see, 
miss,  who's  the  boss  o'  this  shanty." 

"  I'll  bet  my  money  on  the  old  gray  mare; 
"Will  anybody  bet  on  the  filly  ?  " 

sang  Dick  Wilson,  a  lad  of  eighteen,  who,  being  now  too 
big  to  be  beaten  by  his  mother,  revenged  himself  by  inso- 
lence for  the  injustice  and  tyranny  she  had  exercised  over 
his  childhood. 

The  sins  of  the  parents  are,  indeed,  visited  on  the  chil- 
dren ;  but  also  they  rebound  heavily  to  punish  the  source 
.whence  they  came. 


60  DOE  A  DARLIXG: 

"  You,  Dick,  clear  out  o'  this.  Clear,  I  say,  or  I'll 
scald  ye,  same 's  I  would  a  dog,"  screamed  Mrs. 
Wilson. 

"  Don't  ye  git  riled,  old  lady.  Tain't  good  for  yer 
stummick,"  drawled  Dick,  without  rising.  "  And  as 
for  Do,  I  reckon  you'd  better  let  her  alone.  She  ain't 
used  to  our  lovin'  little  ways  here,  and  tain't  best  ter  give 
her  too  big  a  dose  ter  once.  Clear,  little  un,"  continued 
he,  pointing  with  his  thumb  to  the  open  stairs  leading  to 
the  loft  where  all  the  girls  slept  together. 

Mrs.  Wilson,  glaring  from  one  to  the  other,  remained 
for  a  moment  irresolute  whether  to  first  attack  son  or 
niece  ;  and  Dora,  without  waiting  for  her  to  decide, 
w^alked  quietly  across  the  kitchen  and  up  the  stairs, 
leaving  mother  and  son  to  a  short  but  spirited  battle  of 
words,  ending  in  Dick  rushing  off  to  "the  grocery"  at 
the  cross  roads,  declaring,  as  he  slammed  the  door  behind 
him,  that  he  wished  he  could  go  to  Bedlam  to  live,  instead 
of  such  a  house  as  his  own. 


CHAPTER    yill. 

That  night,  when  all  Avas  dark  and  quiet,  both  within 
and  without  the  house,  a  slender  little  figure  came  gliding 
down  the  stairs  and  across  the  kitchen. 

With  a  noiseless  hand  she  slipped  back  the  wooden 
bolt,  unlatched  the  heavy  door,  and  crept  out  into  the 
starless  night. 

It  was  Dora,  who,  Avith  a  little  bundle  of  clothes  in  her 
hand,  and  her  mother's  Bible  in  her  bosom,  was  leaving 
behind  her  the  only  home  she  could  call  her  own,  and 
going  out  into  the  wide  world  to  seek  a  better  one. 

Her  future  course  remained  perfectly  undecided,  ex- 
cept that  she  intended  to  travel  Xorth  as  fast  as  possible, 
and  hoped  in  some  way  to  find  out  that  aunt  Lucy,  of 
whom  she  did  not  even  know  the  full  name  and  place  of 
abode,  but  whom  she  already  loved  for  her  mother's  sake. 

First  of  all,  however,  she  determined  to  go  and  say 
good  by  to  the  old  house  where  she  had  been  born  and 
passed  her  whole  life,  except  these  last  unhappy  days, 
and  also  to  her  mother's  grave. 

Walking  hastily  on,  and  congratulating  herself  upon 
the  darkness,  she  soon  reached  the  house,  which  was 
6  (61) 


62  DOE  A  DARLIXG: 

still  untenanted,  and  sat  down  for  a  moment  upon  the 
stone  step  of  the  kitchen  door  where  she  and  Tom  had 
been  used  to  sit  and  eat  their  supper  together,  through 
all  their  happy  childhood. 

"  And  now  he  is  a  rebel,  and  gone  to  fight,  and  per- 
haps he  will  be  killed,"  thought  Dora,  sadly.  Presently 
she  took  the  little  Bible  from  her  bosom,  and  kneeling 
upon  the  old  step  with  it  tightly  clasped  in  her  hands, 
she  prayed  simply  and  fervently  to  the  Father  of  the 
fatherless,  that  he  would  guard  her  dear  brother,  and  her 
father,  and  herself  from  all  evil  and  sin,  and  that  in  his 
own  good  time  he  would  bring  them  all  home  to  live 
with  the  beloved  mother  who  had  gone  before. 

After  this,  the  little  girl  felt  so  much  happier  and 
safer,  that  she  was  sure  there  must  be  angels  about  her, 
sent  by  her  heavenly  Father  to  comfort  and  sustain  her. 

"Perhaps  mother  herself  is  here,"  thought  Dora  ;  and 
her  eager  eyes  glanced  around  as  if  she  might  really  see 
that  dear  face  shining  upon  her  out  of  the  darkness. 

But  such  sights  are  not  for  mortal  eyes,  and  Dora 
herself  soon  faintly  smiled  at  her  own  fanciful  hope. 

After  a  few  moments  she  arose,  and  lightly  kissing  the 
closed  door  of  the  dear  old  home,  she  took  up  her  little 
bundle,  and  went  slowly  down  the  path. 

Near  the  barn  she  almost  stumbled  over  a  dark  figure 
crouching  upon  the  ground. 

"Who's  that?"  cried  she,  involuntarily. 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  63 

"  Gosh,  Missy  Dory,  be  dat  you?  "  exclaimed  a  well- 
known  voice,  as  the  figure  straightened  itself,  as  far  as 
was  possible. 

"  Picter  !     Why,  Picter,  can  it  be  you  ?  " 

"  Me  mysel',  missy,  an'  proper  glad  to  see  lilly  missy 
agin,"  replied  the  negro,  warmly. 

"  Well,  but,  Uncle  Pic,  how  came  you  here,  and  where 
are  you  going  ?  " 

"  Ps  tell  you  all  'bout  it,  missy,  fas'  I  can,  for  'twon't 
do  fer  me  to  stay  long  in  dese  yer  diggins.  Ps  come  out 
on  furlough,  as  we  calls  it  in  de  army." 

"  O,  you're  in  the  army,  then?"  asked  Dora,  with  a 
roguish  smile. 

"  Yes,  missy,  I  is.  An'  you  see  we's  in  camp  jes' 
now,  'bout  fifty  mile  from  here,  an'  gwine  ter  stop  a  spell. 
We's  moved  furder  off  dan  we  was  when  me  an'  de 
captin  got  back,  and  so  I  t'ou't  'fore  we  moved  on  agin, 
Pd  borry  a  boss,  and  come  back  to  de  ole  place  for 
sumfin'  dat  I  forgot  dat  mornin'.  An'  so  yer  mammy's 
dead,  poor  lilly  missy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Picter.     How  did  you  know?  " 

"  Lor,  missy,  Ps  seen  some  of  our  folks  'bout  here,  an' 
got  all  de  news.  An'  I  was  gwine  ter  try  fer  ter  see 
you  'fore  I  wented  back,  'cause  I  t'ou't  mabbe  you  wa^n' 
jist  happy  down  dere,  an'  I  was  gwine  to  see  if  ole  Picter, 
that  yer  mammy  gib  his  freedom  to,  couldn'  do  sumfin* 
'bout  it." 


64  DORA  DARLING: 

"  I  am  not  living  at  aunt  Wilson's  now,"  said  Dora, 
quietly.     "  I  have  left  there." 

"  Lef '  dah  !  An'  whar's  ye  gwiue,  missy?"  asked 
Picter,  in  much  astonishment. 

''  I  don't  know.  Only  I  am  going  North,  where  my 
mother's  folks  live.     Perhaps  I  shall  find  some  of  them." 

"  Yer  pore  lilly  gal !  "  exclaimed  Pic,  with  a  world  of 
tender  pity  in  his  coarse  voice. 

"  Why  don't  you  come  with  me,  Picter?  "  asked  Dora, 
suddenly,  as  the  idea  flashed  upon  her  mind.  "  You 
want  to  go  to  the  Korth,  of  course,  and  very  likely,  when 
I  find  my  aunt,  she  will  take  you  to  live  with  her,  too. 
Won't  that  be  nice  ?  " 

"  But,  lilly  missy,  how's  we  gwine  fer  ter  find  yer 
aunty  ?     Do  ye  know  whar  she  live  ?  " 

"No,  Picter,  nor  I  don't  know  her  name,  except 
Lucy ;  but  I  guess  she  lives  in  Massachusetts.  She  used 
to  when  mother  was  married." 

Epictetus  pondered  the  proposition  with  a  gi-avity 
worthy  of  his  namesake.  At  last  he  spoke,  as  one  who 
has  made  up  his  mind  :  — 

"  Lilly  missy,  ter  go  an'  look  in  a  big  place,  like  Mas- 
serchusetts,  for  a  woman  named  Lucy,  'ould  be  jis'  like 
looking  in  the  mowin'  for  las'  year's  snow.  'Twouldn't 
be  no  use,  no  how.  But  now  yer  wait  a  minit,  an'  Pll 
tell  yer  how  we'll  fix  it. 

"  Dese  yer  sojers  dat   Ps  wid,  come  from  de  Norf, 


THE  DAUGHTEE   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  65 

an'  some  of  'em  from  Masserchusetts.  De  eap'n  dat 
was  to  our  house  dat  morning,  lie's  a  Masserchusetts  man, 
an'  come  down  here  with  one  of  dere  regiments,  but 
when  de  oders  went  home,  he  stopped,  an'  has  been 
fighting  'long  o'  dese  yer  fellers. 

"  Now,  missy,  yer  come  'long  back  wid  me  to  de 
camp,  an'  I'll  take  keer  on  ye  dere  whiles  we  stop,  an' 
w'en  dey  goes  jSTorf,  w'y,  we'll  go  'long  too.  What  yer 
tink  o'  dat  yer  for  an  ole  nig's  plan,  now?  " 

"  That  will  do,  Picter,  very  well,  I  should  think,"  said 
Dora,  composedly.     "  When  shall  we  go  ?  " 

"  Right  off,  now,  lilly  missy.  'T won't  do  fer  dis 
chile  to  be  cotched  in  dese  diggins,  as  I  said  afore. 
Tell  trufe,  lilly  missy,  I  only  come  fer  de  ole   stockin'." 

"  What  old  stocking?  "  asked  Dora,  wonderingly. 

"  ^'jy  n^issy,  de  ole  feller  has  been  pickin'  up  de 
coppers  ebery  chance  he  gQi^  dis  many  a  long  year,  an' 
t'ought  one  dese  yer  fine  days  mabbe  mas'r  take  'em  all 
an'  gib  him  his  freedom.  Den,  when  mist's  say,  '  Go,  ole 
Pic,'  all  to  a  sudden  t'oder  day,  ebery  ting  seem  turned 
upside  down,  and  de  silly  ole  nig  scamper  off  widout  so 
much  as  tink  'bout  de  ole  stockin'  hangin'  up  in  de  barn." 

"  And  so  you  came  back  to  get  it?  "  asked  Dora,  rather 
impatiently,  for  she  longed  to  begin  her  journ#y. 

"Yis,  missy,  I's  come  back  fer  get  it;  dat  part 
my  arrant,  to  be  sure.  Bud  den,  'sides  dat,  I  wanted 
know  how  lilly  missy  gittin'  'long,  an'  wedder  de  coppers 
6* 


QQ  DORA  DARLING: 

'ould  do  some  good  to  she.  'Cause,  missy,  w'en  mist's 
gib  me  my  freedom  right  out  o'  han',  it  'ould  look  orful 
mean  fer  me  to  carry  off  all  de  coppers,  too,  and  neber 
ax  wedder  lilly  missy  could  help  herse'f  some  way  wid 
dem." 

"  O,  thank  you,  Uncle  Pic,"  exclaimed  Dora,  hastily. 
"  But  of  course  I  would  not  for  the  world  take  one  of 
them  away  from  you.  And  how  did  you  know,  before 
you  came,  that  I  was  at  aunt  Wilson's  ?  " 

"  Lor's,  missy,  'twas  passed  along  to  me,  same  as  all 
de  news  is." 

"But  how,  Picter?" 

"  Well,  missy,  de  col'ud  folks  dey  don't  hab  no  news- 
papers nor  books,  so  dey  takes  a  heap  o'  pains  to  git  de 
news  roun'  by  word  o'  mouf.  Dey  meets  nights,  an'  dey 
tells  eberyt'in'  dey  know,  an'  dey  has  ways,  missy,  heaps 
o'  ways.     Bud  now  Ps  all  ready  for  travellin'  ef  you  is." 

"  I  am  in  a  great  hurry  to  start,  Pic." 

"  Sho  !  be  you,  lilly  missy?  Den  Ps  mos'  afeard  you 
has'n'  be'n  ober  an'  above  contented  to  your  aunty's. 
Pore  lilly  lamb.  Well,  ole  Pic's  gwine  ter  see  ter  ye 
now,  an'  dere  shan't  nebber  no  one  take  ye  away  from 
him  without  you  says  so  you'se'f.  Xow  I  jes'  go  to  de  barn 
a  minit,  an'  git  my  lilly  bundle,  an'  den  we  goes." 

Picter  stole  cautiously  away  through  the  darkness,  and 
Dora  strained  her  eyes  to  distinguish  once  more  the  dim 
outline  of  her  old  home  vaguely  drawn  against  the  gloomy 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIME  XT.  67 

sky.  The  night  wind  moaned  drearily  around  its  gables, 
and  a  ■svliip-poor-will  perched  upon  the  tree  that  swept 
the  roof  to  chant  his  mournful  cry. 

Dora  shivered  nervously,  and  murmured,  "  This  isn't 
home  any  longer,  and  aunt's  house  isn't  either.  I  haven't 
any  home,  now  ;  but  the  Lord  and  mother  will  take  care 
of  me  just  the  same  —  so  I  don't  care." 

"  H'yar  we  be,  missy,"  whispered  Picter's  hoarse  voice, 
as  he  rejoined  his  new  charge.  "  Now  we's  all  ready  to 
put,  I  reckon." 

"  Do  you  know  the  way.  Pic,  w^hen  it's  so  dark?" 

"  jSTeber  you  fear  fer  dat,  missy.  De  ole  nig  fin'  he 
way  'bout,  ef  it  be  darker  dan  ten  black  cats  shuck  up  in 
one  bag.  Den,  back  here  a  piece  I's  got  a  boss,  a  fus' 
rater,  too,  dat  dey  lend  me  up  to  de  camp.  De  cap'n 
tell  'em  trust  de  ole  nig  same  as  dey  would  hese'f." 

"Do  you  mean  the  captain  that  was  at  our  house?" 
asked  Dora,  who  was  now  tripping  along  beside  the  old 
negro  in  the  direction  of  the  mountains. 

'•  De  berry  same,  missy.  He  name  Cap'n  Windsor  — 
Charley  Windsor.  Don'  you  min'  he  tole  us  ter  call  'im 
Cap'n  Karl?     Dat  de  same  name  as  Charley." 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  was  real  glad  afterwards  that  I  didn't 
know  his  true  name,  for  they  asked  me,  you  know." 

"No,  I  didn't  know 'bout  dat.  I  heerd  dat  dey  got 
wind  roun'  here  dat  a  Yankee  officer  got  away,  an'  dey 
was  rampin'  roun'  like  mad,  lookin'  fer  'ira  ;  an'  ole 
raas'r  was  some  'spected,  I  heerd." 


G8  DOE  A  DAELIXGt 

"  Father  suspected  !  Why,  he  brought  Joe  Sykes  and 
some  other  men  to  our  house  to  look,  and  to  ask  mother 
and  me  questions." 

"  Yes,  yes,  chile,  I  knows  all  'bout  dat.  Dem  fellers  is 
part  ob  de  Wigilance  Committee,  an'  mas'r  had  to  fotch 
'em  to  he  house  wedder  he  like  it  or  not.  Den  dey  tole 
him  he'd  better  'list  after  mist's  died,  an'  so  he  did." 

"  And  did  you  hear  all  that  before  you  came  back?  " 

"  Not  all,  missy.  I  seed  a  boy  las'  night,  Av'en  I  was 
comin'  dis  way,  dat  telled  me  part.  He  b'longs  to  one  o' 
dem  "Wigilances,  an'  so  heerd  de  whole  story." 

"  Poor  father  !  "  murmured  Dora. 

"  Well,  missy,  I  reckon  he  didn'  want  much  drivin'  to 
go  inter  de  army.  He  used  ter  talk  'bout  it  by  spells,  an' 
say  he'd  a  mind  fer  ter  go." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it,"  said  Dora,  sadly. 

"  Golly  !  How  dark  he  am  here  'mong  de  hills.  Can't 
hardly  make  out  de  way,  now  we's  lef  de  road,  but 
reckon  we's  right  so  fer,"  muttered  Pic. 

"  Where  are  we  going  first,  Picter?  Where  shall  we 
find  the  horse  ?  "  asked  Dora,  a  little  anxiously. 

"  Fin'  'im  in  he  paster,  missy.  I  lef  'im  dah  as  snug 
as  a  bug  in  a  rug,  an'  de  Bible  say,  *  Safe  bind,  safe  find  ;  ' 
so  I  boun'  him  safe  'nouf,  I  tell  ee." 

"  O,  no,  Picter,  that  isn't  in  the  Bible,"  said  Dora, 
quite  scandalized  at  the  idea. 

"Ain't  it,  now,  missy?     Well,  I  heern  mist's  say  so 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  69 

one  day,  an'  I  t'oii't  she  alluz  talk  out  o'  de  'Bible.     Any- 
ways, dem's  good  words,  else  she  wouldn't  say  dem." 

To  this  Dora  made  no  reply,  and  Picter  was  now  too 
deeply  engrossed  in  making  out  their  path  among  the 
rocks,  fallen  trees,  hillocks,  and  ravines  of  the  mountain 
side,  to  continue  the  conversation. 

Nearly  an  hour  had  passed,  and  the  little  girl  was  be- 
coming quite  tired,  when  Picter  stopped  short  at  the  foot 
of  a  large  oak  tree,  and  said,  triumphantly,  — 
"  Here  we  is.  Missy  Dora." 

"  Where  ?     I  don't  see  anything  but  trees,  Picter." 
"  No  more  you   wouldn'    if  'twas    cl'ar  as  noonday, 
honey  ;  an'  now,  you  couldn'  see  de  king's  palace  ef  'twas 
straight  afore  ye.     Bud  dis  chile  knows  all  'bout  it." 

While  speaking,  the  negro  had  been  carefully  removing 
some  brush  and  broken  branches,  which,  had  it  been 
li<^ht  enough  to  see  them,  would  have  appeared  to  have 
naturally  drifted  in  between  the  old  oak  and  a  high 
cliff  of  mingled  rock  and  gravel  just  behind  it.  Under 
these  appeared  a  large  round  stone,  lying  as  it  might 
have  lain  ever  since  it  first  became  loosened  from  the 
face  of  the  cliff  in  some  frosty  spring,  and  rolled  to  its 
present  position. 

But  Picter,  after  casting  a  searching  look  into  the 
darkness  surrounding  him,  applied  his  strength  to  this 
rock,  and  soon  displacing  it,  showed  that  it  acted  as  cover 
to  the  mouth  of  a  tunnel  perhaps  two  feet  in  diameter, 
penetrating  the  face  of  the  cliff  at  an  acute  angle. 


70  DORA  DARLIXG: 

''  TThy,  hoW  came  that  hole  there,  and  where  does  it 
go  to  ?  "  asked  Dora,  in  astonishment. 

"  He  come  dere  trew  much  tribberlation  an'  hard 
work,  an'  he  go  to  de  Ian'  o'  promise.  A  kin'  ob  a  short 
cut  ter  freedom,  dis  yer  is,"  returned  Pic,  cheerfully. 
"  Now,  den,  gib  us  you  lilly  paw,  missy." 

Dora,  without  hesitation,  put  her  hand  in  that  of  Pic- 
ter,  who,  after  lifting  her  over  the  brush  and  the  rock, 
set  her  down  at  the  entrance  to  the  tunnel. 

"  Dere,  missy,  git  down  on  you  ban's  an'  kneeses,  an' 
creep  right  frew.  Ps  comin'  right  arter,  soon's  I  fix  up 
de  brush  an'  stuff  fer  ter  hide  de  op'nin'.  Has  ter  be 
mighty  keerful  'bout  dat." 

With  fearless  obedience,  Dora  did  as  directed,  and 
crept  forward  some  feet  into  the  tunnel,  where  she  paused 
until  the  negro  had  arranged  the  disguises  of  his  curious 
refuge  to  his  mind. 

"  Dere,  honey,"  said  he,  at  length,  "  now  we's  all 
right,  I  reckon.  You  jis'  go  ahead  till  you  gits  to  de 
end  ob  dis  yer  hole.  'Tain't  so  mighty  long,  arter  all, 
an'  de  Ian'  ob  promise  is  waitin'  fer  us  at  t'oder  end." 

The  child  made  no  reply.  Indeed,  the  close  air  and 
heavy  darkness  of  the  place  rendered  the  mere  act  of 
breathing  a  difficult  one,  and  she  had  neither  strength  nor 
courage  for  speech. 

Keeping  on  as  she  was  told,  it  was  not  many  minutes, 
however,  before  a  waft  of  fresher  air  touched  her  panting 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIME  XT.  71 

lips,  and  presently  a  dim  light,  at  some  distance  in  front, 
refreshed  her  aching  eyes.  Still  creeping  forward,  she 
came  at  last  to  the  end  of  the  tunnel,  and  rising  cautiously 
to  her  feet,  stood  beneath  the  sombre  sky  in  what  ap- 
peared to  be  a  small,  deep  valley  surrounded  on  every 
side  by  overhanging  cliffs. 

"  Here  we  be,  missy  !  "  exclaimed  Picter,  exultantly, 
as  he  stood  beside  her.  "  Xow  gib  me  you  han'  again, 
an'  I'll  fotch  you  to  de  cabin." 

Putting  her  hand  in  his,  Dora  was  silently  led  across  a 
little  space  of  gi-ass,  to  where,  beneath  the  impending 
brow  of  one  of  the  crags,  a  rude  hut  had  been  constructed 
of  boughs  and  small  trunks  of  trees.  The  door  was 
closed,  but  yielded  to  Pic's  hand. 

"  Dere's  nobbuddy  here.  Reckon  Scip's  gone  right 
'long,"  muttered  he,  leading  in  his  little  companion,  and 
carefully  closing  the  door  behind  them. 

"  Xow  you  set  right  down  on  dis  yer  log,  missy,  an' 
w^e'm  hab  a  fire  an'  suffin'  to  eat  'fore  you  kin  say  Jack 
Robberson,"  continued  he,  cheerily ;  and  Dora,  tired, 
faint,  and  somewhat  frightened  at  her  strange  situation, 
obeyed  without  a  word. 

Groping  his  way  to  the  fireplace  at  the  back  of  the 
hut,  the  negro  drew  together  some  half-burned  brands, 
added  to  them  from  a  pile  of  brush  at  the  side  of  the  fire- 
place, lighted  them  with  a  match  from  his  pocket,  and 
soon  had  a  cheery  fire  crackling  up  the  chimney. 


72  DORA  BARLING: 

"  De  smoke  goes  ofF  in  de  cracks  ob  de  rocks  some 
way.  You  can't  neber  see  it  f'um  below,"  explained  be, 
turning  round  to  look  at  Dora,  who  sat  huddled  up  in 
the  spot  where  she  had  first  sunk. 

"  Pore  lilly  missy.  You's  all  beat  out,  an'  yore  cheeks 
is  as  white  as  you'  ban's.  Come  right  up  to  de  fire  an* 
warm  ye,  honey.     You's  awful  tired  now,  isn'  you?" 

"  A  little  tired.  Uncle  Pic.  But  I  shall  soon  be  rested 
now.     What  a  funny  sort  of  place  this  is  !  " 

"  I'll  bet  you  'tis,  missy.  To-morrer  we'll  look  roun' 
an'  see  it.  Now,  here's  some  beef  an'  some  bread  I  lef ' 
here  w'en  I  corned  along.  Dem's  Yankee  vittles,  missy. 
Tell  yoii^  dis  chile  neber  tasted  nuffin'  sweeter  dan  de 
first  mou'ful  of  Yankee  beef,  dat  he  eat  in  de  Union  camp." 

"  And  I  shall  like  it,  too,  Picter,"  said  Dora,  earnestly  ; 
"  for  Pm  going  to  be  a  Yankee  all  the  rest  of  my  life, 
after  once  we  get  among  them." 

"  Dat  right,  honey  ;  you  an'  Pic  cl'ar  Yankee  f'um  dis 
minit.  Now,  chile,  here's  you  bed  in  dis  corner,  an' 
here's  de  bery  branket  dat  mist's  gib  to  Cap'n  Karl  dat 
mornin'  all  handy  fer  ter  wrop  ye  up. 

"  Now,  missy,  you  'member  dat  it  tells  in  de  Bible 
'bout  how  you  mus'  heave  you  corn-dodgers  inter  de 
water,  an'  arter  a  while  dey'll  turn  up  loaves  ob  w'ite 
bread  if  so  be  as  you  has  bin  good  to  dem  dat  stood  in 
need  o'  kin'ness." 

"  I  guess  you  mean,  '  Cast  thy  bread  upon  the  waters, 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  73 

and  after  many  days  it  shall  return  to  thee  again '  —  don't 
you?"  asked  Dora,  doubtfully. 

"Mabbe  de  words  is  fix  some  sich  way  ;  but  I's  got  de 
meanin'  fus'  rate,  'cause  mist's  tole  me  all  'bout  it ;  an' 
now  see,  honey,  how  it's  come  true  'bout  dis  yer  branket. 
Mist's  had  lots  on  'em,  an'  'twan't  no  more  dan  a  corn- 
dodger fer  her  ter  gib  ;  bud  now  it's  come  back  to  her 
darter  w'en  she  hain't  got  no  oder  mortial  rag  fer  ter 
wrop  herse'f  in,  an'  now  it's  ekill  to  a  thumpin'  big  loaf 
o'  w'ite  bread." 

Dora  laughed  at  this  queer  Scripture  reading,  and 
wrapping  herself  in  the  blanket,  lay  down  upon  her  leafy 
bed,  where  soon  she  slept  as  soundly  and  as  sweetly  as 
if  she  had  still  been  beneath  her  father's  roof. 

As  for  Picter,  he  curled  himself  up  almost  in  the  fire- 
place, and  soon  snored  portentously. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

The  next  morning  the  weary  child  slept  until  Picter 
gently  shook  her  by  the  shoulder,  and  called  her  to  ai^&e. 

"  O,  good  morning,  Uncle  Pic,"  said  she,  smiling,  as 
she  sat  up  and  rubbed  her  eyes.     "  Is  it  late? " 

"  Well,  missy,  not  so  berry  late,  I  reckon,  dough  I 
hasn'  got  my  goold  watch  on  dis  mornin' ;  but  breaksus 
is  all  ready,  an'  a  fus'  rate  one,  too,  honey." 

"  Is  it?  What  have  we  got?  "  asked  Dora,  merrily,  as 
she  jumped  up  and  came  towards  the  fire. 

"  Mos'  eberyting,  honey.  Fus'  place  dere's  de  soup 
made  out  o'  beef  an'  hard  tack.  Dat  mighty  good  w'en 
it  ain't  too  salt ;  and  I's  freshened  my  beef  a  heap.  Den 
dere's  taters  roasted,  an'  dere's  a  hoe-cake  bake,  an'  dere's 
coffee  bilin',  wid  sugar  in  it." 

"  Why,  Uncle  Pic,  where  did  you  get  all  these  things  ?" 
asked  the  astonished  child. 

"  Well,  honey,  de  beef,  an'  de  coffee,  an'  de  sugar,  I 
fotcht  from  camp,  an'  de  taters  an'  de  corn  for  de  hoe- 
cake  I  'fistercated  las'  night." 

"Did  what,  Pic?" 

"  'Fistercated,  honey.  Dat's  a  bran'-new  Yankee  word 
(74) 


THE  DA  UGHTER  OF  THE  REGIMEXT.  75 

dat  I  larn  in  camp.  I  can't  zackly  splain  de  meanin' 
on't,  but  I  understands  it  fus'  rate,  an'  it's  an  oncommon 
handy  kin'  of  a  word." 

Picter  chuckled  to  himself  as  he  lifted  the  tin  kettle  of 
soup  off  the  fire,  and  Dora,  giving  up  the  attempt  to 
understand  his  joke,  inquired, — 

"  Where  can  I  wash  my  face,  Uncle  Pic?  " 
"  Dere,  now,"  cried  the  negro,  in  a  sort  of  delighted 
admiration,  "  dat's  what  I  calls  de  effec'  ob  a  good  eddi- 
cation.  Here  dis  bressed  lamb  gits  up  in  de  mornin',  an' 
wot  does  she  ax  fer  fust?  Her  breaksus?  Not  a  bit 
on't.  She  axes  fer  water  to  wash  her  purty  lilly  face. 
Now  dat  cl'ar  buckra.  De  nigger  picaninnies  isn't  up 
to  dat," 

"  Why,  Uncle  Pic,  don't  you  always  wash  your  face 
in  the  morning  ?  " 

"  Alluz,  alluz,  chile— Ven  it  handy,  an',  when  I  tink 
ob  it,  an'  de  water  ain't  too  cole,  an'  I  ain't  too  much 
druv  up.  Bud  now  I  'spec  you  an'  you  mammy  wash 
'um  face  ebery  single  day." 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course,  Picter.  I  thought  everybody 
alive  did." 

"  Bress  de  pore  lilly  child !  An'  she  wor  gwine  all 
'lone  to  look  fur  aunt  Lucy  in  de  Norf,  and  didn'  know 
no  more  'bout  de  worl'  dan  dat  ar.  Well,  well,  de  Bible 
say  dat  Hebbenly  Marster  takes  keer  to  temper  de  win' 
to  de  shorn  lamb,  an'  I  spec  he  will  to  dis  one." 


76  DORA   DAELIXG' 

"  I  don't  think  that's  in  the  Bible,  Pic,"  said  Dora, 
doubtfully. 

"  Lors,  chile,  dere's  no  sasserfying  ye,  ye're  so  ciirus," 
retorted  Pic  good-naturedly.  "  But  you  come  long  o' 
me,  missy,  an'  PU  show  you  de  baf-room." 

Taking  the  coffee-pail  off  the  fire,  lest  it  should  boil 
over  in  his  absence,  Picter  led  the  way  out  into  the 
open  air. 

Looking  about  her  with  some  curiosity,  Dora  saw  that 
she  was,  as  she  supposed,  in  a  very  deep  and  narroAv 
valley,  hardly  more,  indeed,  than  a  deep  cleft  near  the 
summit  of  a  mountain.  A  narrow  strip  of  verdure  ran 
through  it ;  at  one  end  was  the  opening  through  which 
they  had  entered,  and  at  the  other  was  the  only  break  in 
the  rocky  wall  that  rose  around  it  to  a  height  of  from 
twenty  to  fifty  feet.  This  break,  or,  as  it  may  more 
properly  be  described,  this  slight  division  between  two 
toppling  crags,  served  as  a  loophole  from  whence  the 
fugitives  might  command  a  very  extended  view  of  the  sur- 
rounding country.  At  their  feet  arose  a  little  bubbling 
spring,  which,  after  filling  its  deep,  rocky  basin,  sparkled 
away  in  a  stream,  that,  after  a  course  of  only  a  few  feet, 
fell  over  the  edge -of  the  precipice,  which  seemed  to  have 
yawned  asunder  to  allow  it  room  to  pass. 

Looking  carefully  down  the  dashing  little  waterfall, 
Dora  saw  that  some  twenty  feet  below  her  lay  another 
little  glen,  similar  in  size  and  shape  to  that  where  she 


THE   DAUGHTER    OF  THE  REGIMENT.  77 

stood.  Through  this  the  waters  of  the  fall,  collecting 
themselves  after  their  leap,  danced  gayly  along  until  they 
reached  its  lower  end,  when  they  made  their  way  through 
another  canon  so  narrow  as  to  leave  no  room  except  for 
their  bed,  and  so  sinuous  that  no  one  standing  at  either 
end  could  possibly  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  other.  The 
passage  was  further  obstructed  at  the  present  time  by  a 
good-sized  pine  tree,  which  had  been  cut  down  and 
dragged  into  the  bed  of  the  stream. 

This  little  valley,  thus  fortified,  thus  watered,  and  well 
provided  with  herbage,  was  "  the  pasture"  of  which  Pic 
had  spoken  when  asked  where  he  had  left  the  horse ; 
and  here,  at  the  moment  when  Dora  looked  down  from 
her  mountain  eyry,  a  fine,  strong  looking  animal  of  that 
description  was  indulging  in  a  roll  upon  the  dewy  grass 
by  way  of  performing  his  morning  toilet. 

"  And  how  do  we  get  down  there.  Pic?  "  asked  Dora, 
after  taking  a  long  survey  of  the  little  valley,  the  horse, 
the  sparkling  stream,  and  the  grand  view  of  mountain 
scenery  that  stretched  away  for  miles  before  her. 

"  TTell,  dat  ruffer  a  bodder,  missy,"  acknowledged 
Pic.  "  You  see  I  t'ou't  we  was  comin'  in  de  same  way 
we  come  out,  an'  den  I  was  goin'  roun'  to  fotch  out  de 
boss  t'oder  way.  But  now  I  spects  we'm  bof  got  to 
scrabble  down  behin'  de  fall." 

'^  Behind  the  fall !  "  echoed  Dora. 

"  Yes,  honey.  See  here,  now:  dere's  a  chance  to  put 
7* 


78  DORA   DARLIXG. 

you  foot  on  dis  yer  ledge  just  b'low  here,  an'  den  you 
stick  you  fin'ers  an'  toes  in  mighty  tight,  an'  gits  do^\^l 
to  dat  ar  nex'  one,  an'  den  you  kin'  o'  sidle  along  an'  git 
right  in  'hind  de  water ;  an'  so  you  keeps  workin'  down, 
one  step  to  a  time,  till  you  lan's  to  de  bottom.  T'ink  you 
kin  do't,  lilly  missy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  reckon  I  can,"  said  Dora,  bravely,  though  she 
turned  a  little  pale  as  she  carefully  scanned  the  slippery 
and  dizzy  path  pointed  out  to  her. 

"  Yer'll  have  to  pull  off  yer  shoe  an'  'tockin',  missy," 
resumed  Pic,  "  an'  I's  'fraid  you'll  git  orful  wet.  I's 
mighty  sorry,  honey,  fer  to  ax  you  ter  do  sich  a  thin', 
bud  dere  ain't  no  oder  way." 

"  No,  I  see  there  isn't,  Picter  ;  and  I  dare  say  it  won't 
be  half  so  bad  as  it  looks.  Pll  try,  any  way,"  said  Dora, 
bravely. 

"  Bress  you  heart,  honey !  You  jes'  as  brave  as  a 
lion,  an'  jes'  as  purty  as  a  lamb  ;  an'  now  you  jes'  wash 
you  lilly  face  here  to  de  sprin',  an  ole  Pic  '11  go  see  to 
de  breaksus." 


CHAPTER    X. 

The  breakfast  was  a  merry  meal,  and  proved  excel- 
lent in  quality.  When  it  was  finished,  Dora  insisted  on 
washing  the  few  utensils  and  scouring  them  as  clean  as 
she  could,  although  Pic  grumbled  at  both  operations  as 
useless  labor,  and  added,  as  a  final  argument,  — 

"  'Sides,  dey  ain't  use  to  it,  and  w^'en  dey  gits  it  once 
dey'll  olluz  be  spectin'  ob  it,  an'  be  jes'  like  dat  ole  boss 
doctor's  darters  in  de  Bible,  dat  was  olluz  singin'  out, 
'  Gib  !  Gib  ! '  so  I  spec's  dere  poor  daddy  had  to  go 
roun'  nights  an'  pizen  de  bosses,  so's  to  cure  'em  up  nex' 
day  and  get  de  pay  fer  doiu'  it." 

"  Why,  Pic ! "  exclaimed  Dora,  pausing  in  her  labor 
upon  the  coffee-kettle,  and  looking  up  at  the  negro's 
grotesque  face.  "  What  makes  you  call  it  a  horse 
doctor?     It  says  'horse  leech'  in  the  Bible." 

"  Well,  chile,  I  ax  mas'r  one  day  what  a  leech  mean, 
an'  he  say  it  mean  doctor ;  so  boss  leech  mean  boss 
doctor  —  don'  you  see  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  don't  believe  that  is  it,"  said  Dora,  medita- 
tively. "  But,  any  way,"  continued  she,  shaking  the 
heavy  chestnut  curls  oat  of  her   eyes,  "  I'll  scour  the 

(79) 


80  DOJRJ   DABLIXG: 

kettles  no\v,  if  they  cry,  '  Give,  give '  ever  so  loud  to- 
morrow." 

""Well,  den,  de  pore  ole  nig  mus'  take  holt  too,  I 
specs,"  said  Picter,  grumbling  good-naturedly,  as  he 
grasped  his  great  paw  full  of  ashes,  and  began  to  scour 
lustily  at  the  soup-kettle. 

"  Ah,  ha,  Pic  !  That  was  the  real  reason  you  thought 
it  wasn't  best  for  me  to  do  them,"  laughed  Dora  ;  "  you 
didn't  w^ant  to  help." 

"  Well,  chile,  dis  ole  nig  'ud  full  as  lieves  rest  afore 
de  fire,  an'  dat's  a  fac',  an'  he  kin'  o'  hate  ter  see  lilly 
missy's  pooty  hands  all  grimmed  up  wid  ashes  an'  soot, 
jes'  like  ole  Dinah's.  But  dat  all  go  wid  w^ashin'  yore 
face  ebery  mornin'.  Can't  be  help,  I  specs,  w'en  a  body 
has  had  a  eddication.     Dey's  buckra  ways,  I  reckons." 

By  the  time  the  vessels  were  thoroughly  scoured  and 
washed.  Pic  declared  that  it  was  time  for  dinner,  and  he 
proceeded  to  cook  all  the  remainder  of  the  provisions, 
that  Dora  and  he  might  not  only  eat  at  that  time,  but 
have  something  to  carry  as  support  in  the  long  night 
march  before  them. 

Dinner  over,  and  the  vessels  once  more  cleansed  and 
set  aside,  Pic  suggested  that  they  should  each  take  a  nap, 
and  sleep,  if  possible,  until  the  time  should  come  to  start 
upon  their  journey. 

Dora  consented,  and  lay  down  upon  her  bed  of  leaves, 
while  Picter,  as  before,  curled  himself  beside  the  hearth, 
and  was  in  a  few  moments  fast  asleep. 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF   THE  REGIMENT.  81 

But  Dora  could  not  so  easily  seize  irregular  repose 
For  an  hour  or  more  she  lay  almost  motionless,  watch- 
ing the  fitful  firelight  that  played  among  the  projections 
and  recesses  of  the  irregular  walls  a  fantastic  game  of 
"  I  spy."  Then  the  fire  went  down,  and  only  curls  of 
thin  blue  smoke  arose  from  its  embers. 

Dora  softly  arose,  and  was  about  to  lay  more  wood 
upon  the  fire,  when  a  distant  sound  arrested  her  atten- 
tion. It  was  a  confused  noise,  and  Dora  could  not 
determine  whether  it  came  from  the  direction  of  the 
waterfall,  or  the  tunnel  through  which  they  had  entered 
the  valley.  But  it  appeared  to  be  approaching,  and  as 
any  unusual  sound  was  a  subject  of  alarm  to  the  fugi- 
tives, Dora  hastened  to  arouse  Picter. 

"Eh,  what?  Wha's  *e  matter,  chile?  Tain't  time  yit 
to  be  movin'.  Let  'e  ole  feller  sleep  a  leetly  long'r," 
muttered  the  negro,  lazily,  as  he  turned  upon  the  other 
side  and  prepared  to  drop  off"  again. 

"But,  Picter,  Uncle  Pic,  I  say,  there's  something 
coming  ;  there's  danger,  perhaps." 

"  Somefin'  comin' !  Danger  !  "  repeated  Picter,  start- 
ing to  his  feet  and  rubbing  his  eyes.  "  Whar  !  whar's 
de  danger,  missy?  Reckon  you  foolin'  you  ole  uncle, 
honey,  ain't  you  !     'Fraid  he  obersleep  hese'f." 

"No,  no,  indeed,  Picter.  Just  listen  now  —  there, 
what  is  that  sound  in  the  tunnel  ?  " 

Picter  now  listened  anxiously  enough,  for  the  sounds 


82  DOHA  DARLING' 

growing  louder  every  minute,  evidently  came  from  the 
direction  of  the  tunnel.  Carefully  leaving  the  cabin,  he 
crossed  the  little  glade  to  the  entrance  of  the  subterra- 
nean passage,  and  stood  for  some  minutes  with  his  neck 
outstretched  and  his  ears  alert,  while  his  eyes  wildly 
rolled  first  towards  the  hut  and  Dora's  watchful  little 
fio-ure  standing  in  the  doorwav,  and  then  within  the 
gloomv  chasm  at  whose  entrance  he  stood. 

Presently  he  softly  entered  the  tunnel,  and  disappeared 
from  sight. 

A  few  minutes  passed,  and  Dora,  ftlmost  holding  her 
breath  from  anxiety,  softly  approached  the  dark  passage, 
and  peered  within.  vShe  saw  nothing ;  but  in  another 
moment  Picter  noiselessly  crept  to  her  side,  and  hoarsely 
whispered,  — 

"  'Tis  de  Philistums,  honey  I  Dey  is  upon  us,  an'  dis 
ole  fool  'ould  ha'  laid  still  till  dey  come  an'  cut  off  ebery 
ha'ar  he's  got,  same's  dey  did  to  Satnson,  ef  't  hadu'  been 
for  lilly  missy.  But  de  wus  ob  de  wltole  is,  dey's  got  a 
dog.  Spec  dey's  been  way  down  to  Pete  Flanders,  and 
berried  his'n.  Dere  ain't  no  one  else  'bout  here  has  got 
one  —  " 

"  Xo  one  got  a  dog?  " 

"  Xot  a  bloodhoun',  missy.  Dat's  what  dey's  got  up 
dah.  I  knows  his  bay.  It's  diff'ent  from  any  oder  dog. 
Spec  God  made  all  de  dogs,  and  de  debil  made  blood- 
boun's.  Don'  know  else  how  it  happen  dat  he's  de  only 
one  dat'll  eat  a  nigger." 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF    TEE  REGIMENT.  83 

"  Bat,  Pic,  we  ain't  going  to  stay  here  and  wait  for 
them  —  are  we?"  said  Dora,  impatiently.  "  Come,  let  us 
go  to  the  Avaterfall,  and  get  out  on  the  ledge,  and  then, 
when  they  are  in  the  tunnel  here,  we  can  climb  down  to 
where  the  horse  is,  and  so  get  off.  I  can  climb  any 
where  that  you  can,  I  know.  Come,  here's  the  bundle 
of  food  —  we  must  take  that.  "Why  don't  you  start, 
Pic?" 

The  negro  looked  at  her  with  admiring  wonder. 

"  Lors,  now,"  said  he,  "  how  many  pooty  lilly  gals,  I 
won'er,  'ould  talk  dat  a  way,  sich  a  time  as  dis.  Mos' 
all  on  'em  would  screech  an'  holler  fit  to  kill  deyse'fs, 
an'  let  all  de  folks  out  dah  know  jes'  who's  inside  here. 
Dis  is  what  comes  o'  eddication,  I  reckon." 

"  But,  Pic,  I  say,"  reiterated  Dora,  almost  angrily, 
"  why  don't  you  do  something?  " 

"  Wy,  honey,  'tain't  time  yet.  Dat's  w'y.  Ef  dem 
fools  up  dah  sen's  in  de  dog  —  golly,  dey's  done  it  a' 
ready." 

Dropping  to  his  hands  and  knees,  Pic  began  to  creep 
up  the  tunnel  as  he  spoke,  and  Dora  followed  more  cau- 
tiously. About  half  way,  as  well  as  she  could  judge, 
she  overtook  him  lying  motionless  and  listening  intently. 
The  sounds  now  distinctly  heard  were  the  voices  of  men 
talking  eagerly,  and  the  occasional  hoarse  sound  of  a 
mufiled  howl  from  the  hound. 

"  Dey's  muzzlin'  him,     I  'specs  dey  knows  you's  in 


84  DOE  A   DARLING: 

here,  and  doesn'  want  he  should  t'ar  je.  Dey  doesn' 
muzzle  um  Ven  dey's  chasin'  niggers,"  muttered  Picter. 
"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do?  He'll  be  down 
here  in  a  minute,  and  the  men  after  him.  Can't  I  do 
something  —  can't  you  tell  me,  Picter?  " 

"  Put  out  you  han',  missy.     Here,  dis  way." 
Dora  did  as  directed,  and  found  that  the  tunnel  be- 
yond Pic's   position  was  closed  by  a  barrier,  made   ap- 
parently of  small  saplings,   bound  together  closely  with 
withes. 

"  But  this  won't  stop  him  long,"  whispered  she  ;  "  he'll 
jump  at  it  till  he  knocks  it  down,  or  at  any  rate  till  the 
men  come  up.     It  won't  stop  them." 
"  Wait,  den,  honey.     Feel  here,  now." 
"  A  rope  —  two  ropes  !     What  are  they  for  ?  " 
"  Now  I'll  tell  you,  missy.     Wen  dat  howlin',  tearin' 
debil  up  dah  gets  to   dis  gate,  he'll  be  as  mad  as  hops, 
an'  he'll  howl,  an'  yelp,  an'  run  back'ards  and  for'ards. 
Bud  dat  ain't  de  wust  dat'll  happen  to  um ;  fer  w'en  he 
begins  to  do  dat  ar',  dis  chile  will  pull  de  rope,  jus'  like 
um  hangman  pull  de  leetly  cord  dat  let  de  drop  fall,  an' 
wow  !  whar  dat  debil's  pup  fin'  hese'f  den  ?  " 
"  Why,  what  will  happen  .to  him,  Pic  ?  " 
"  Jes   you  wait   a  lilly  minit,  missy,  an'  you'll  see," 
replied  the  negro,  who  had  all  the  taste  of  his  race  for 
melodrama,  and  did  not  intend  to  spoil  the  gi'and  "  ef- 
fect" he  was  preparing,  by  describing  it  beforehand. 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  85 

Dora  was  too  breathless  and  too  excited  to  insist  upon 
an  explanation,  and  waited  silently  beside  Pic,  grasping 
the  hurdle  with  one  cold  little  hand,  and  listening  with 
both  her  ears. 

The  voices  above,  confused  by  the  distance  into  one 
hoarse  sound,  reverberated  sullenly  along  the  sides  of 
the  tunnel ;  but  no  single  voice  or  words  could  be  distin- 
guished. The  hound  bayed  no  longer,  but  his  fierce 
growl  was  distinctly  audible.  All  at  once  a  sudden  shout 
was  heard,  followed  by  a  profound  silence. 

Then  came  the  patter  of  the  dog's  feet,  mingled  with 
exultant  yelps,  as  he  pressed  forward  upon  the  scent. 
He  was  evidently  approaching  fast. 

"  Now,  den,  chile.  Here  um  debil,  an'  hear  um 
mas'r  hangmana'  ready  for  um,"  whispered  Picter,  hoarse- 
ly, as  he  grasped  the  ropes  in  either  hand,  and  braced 
his  foot  against  the  centre  of  the  hurdle. 

The  hound  reached  the  spot.  He  paused  a  moment, 
whining  impatiently,  and  running  from  side  to  side. 
Then  scenting  his  prey  close  at  hand,  he  became  furious, 
bounding  against  the  gate  with  all  his  force,  growling 
fiercely,  and  tearing  at  the  ground  with  his  paws. 
Through  the  hurdle  Dora  could  see  the  red  gleam  of  his 
eyeballs,  and  smell  his  fetid  breath. 

"Dat  right,  you  debil  dog,"  muttered  the  negro,  in 
great  excitement.  "  Dat  de  w^ay  to  dance  ;  golly  !  Don' 
dis  chile  want  to  see  yer  dancin'  roun'  in  de  fire  down 
8 


86  DOnA  DAnzixG: 

b'low  dab,  Avhar  you's  gwine  !  Specs,  dough ,  yer'll  be 
ter  home  dali,  'long  wid  you  daddy.  Dat's  it !  Scratch 
um  groun'  ;  tear  'im  wid  you  paw  !  Don'  you  jes'  wish 
'twas  ole  nig  you  war  tearin'  !  Xow,  den,  trot  back  a 
leetly  mite,  take  fresh  start !  Dat's  it  ;  now  um  time  fer 
mas'r  hangman  !     He-o  !  " 

As  he  uttered  the  last  exclamation,  Picter,  bracing  his 
foot  afresh,  pulled  suddenly  and  strongly  at  the  two  ropes 
twisted  about  his  brawny  hands. 

A  crash,  a  heavy  fall,  the  rattle  and  plunge  of  an  ava- 
lanche of  stones  and  earth,  accompanied  by  suffocating 
clouds  of  dust,  followed  the  action. 

A  yelp  of  agony,  a  smothered  whine  from  the  hound, 
ensued,  and  then  all  was  still,  and  even  darker  than 
before. 

Picter  seized  Dora  by  the  arm.  and  hurried  her  back 
into  the  open  air,  where  they  were  pursued  by  the  pun- 
gent dust  of  the  earth-fall. 

"  Dah  !  Tank  de  Lor'  dat  all  done  safe  !  "  gasped 
Picter,  as  he  sank  upon  the  ^^'ithfered  grass.  "  Xow  we'm 
got  noffin'  ter  do  but  wait  till  dem  folks  is  gone,  and  den 
get  out  t'oder  way.*' 

"But  if  they  find  the  other  way?"  whispered  Dora, 
after  they  were  safe  once  more  in  the  hut,  with  the  door 
closed. 

"  Dey  won't,  chile.  Dey  neber  'ud  ha'  foun'  dis,  on'y 
fer  de  houn'.     T'oder  way,  de  houn'couldo'  help  um  if 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMEXT.  87 

dey  had  him,  cause  it's  trough  runnin'  water.  An'  I 
reckon  dat  houn'  won't  neber  t'ar  down  a  nigger  agin, 
not  if  he  was  clost  afore  'im." 

"What  was  it,  Picter?  What  did  the  ropes  do?" 
asked  Dora,  with  a  sort  of  breathless  terror  in  her 
voice. 

"  Well,  honey,  w'en  dis  place  was  fix  up  fer  a  sort 
o'  refuge  fer  us  poor  col'ud  folks,  eber  so  long  ago,  we 
t'aut  like  enough  some  day  we  might  be  tracked  in  wid 
houu's.  An'  so,  in  de  tunnel,  we  fix  a  kin'  ob  trap-door 
ober  head,  wid  lots  o'  dirt  an'  big  stones  atop,  an'  big 
sticks  a  holdin'  it  up  underneaf.  Den  we  tied  ropes  to 
de  foot  o'  dem  big  sticks,  an'  fix  de  gate  jes'  dis  side  ob 
de  trap. 

"  So  w'en  I  went  up  fiis'  time,  an'  foun'  out  w'at  was 
to  pay,  I  jes'  put  up  de  gate,  an'  fotch  de  ends  ob  de  ropes 
trew.  So  den,  w'en  de  ole  houn'  Avor  jes'  about  under 
de  middle,  I  gib  um  hangman  pull,  an'  wow  !  down  he 
come  ker-smash,  de  trap  fus',  an'  all  de  stones  an'  dirt 
atop.  Reckon  dat  dog  am  flatter  dan  a  hoe-cake  'bout 
dis  time.     Hi !  I'd  like  'o  look  at  um." 

"  O,  Picter,  how  can  you ! "  cried  Dora,  in  horror. 

"  Can  what,  missy?     Kill  um?" 

"  Xo,  that  was  all  right.  But  to  want  to  see  him 
now." 

"  W'y  not  den,  missy.  I  hate  um  like  de  bery  debil 
hese'f.  I  kill  um  ;  I  want  ter  see  um  dead,  an'  kick  um 
a  leeily  bit  p'raps." 


88  DORA  DARLIXG'. 

"  But,  Pic,  how  can  you  want  to  see  him  all  mashed 
and  mangled  as  he  is  ?  O,  I  wouldn't  look  at  him  for  a 
hundred  dollars." 

"Wouldn'you  now?  Lors,  dat  kin'  o'  curus.  Dat 
goes  'long  wid  washin'  you  face,  and  scourin'  de  coffee- 
kettle,  I  specs.  Buckra  ways,  all  buckra  ways,"  said 
Picter,  looking  at  Dora  with  the  same  sort  of  admiring 
wonder  that  he  frequently  displayed  for  her. 

"  Well,  nigger  ways  is  good  enough  fer  ole  Pic,  but 
he  like  to  see  bucki-a  ways  in  lilly  missy.  Dat  all  right, 
I  specs." 

"  0,  yes,  that's  all  right.  Uncle  Pic  ;  but  don't  you 
think  there's  any  danger  at  all  now  ?  "  asked  the  child, 
rather  anxiously. 

"  Xo,  honey.  Dey  couldn'  fin'  out  de  oder  way,  not 
if  dey  was  lookin'  a  week  ;  not  even  if  dey  got  inter  de 
bosses'  paster  down  by  de  waterfall,  fer  yer  can't  see 
noffin'  w'en  yer  look  up  from  de  foot." 

"  Well,  then,  we  have  only  to  wait  till  these  men  have 
gone,  and  it  is  dark." 

"  Dat's  um,  honey.  jSTow,  s'pose  yer  tell  ole  Pic  some 
ob  dem  pooty  stories  yer  mammy  use  ter  tell  you  an' 
Mas'r  Tom  in  de  winter  ebenin's." 

"  Well,  I  will.  Or,  Picter,  wouldn't  you  rather  have 
me  read  a  little  to  you  out  of  the  Bible  ?  I  have  orot 
mother's  own  little  Bible  here  in  my  bosom." 

*'  Yes,  missy,  I  like  dat  fus'  rate.     Dere  ain't  no  stories 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  89 

ekill  to  dem  in  de  Bible,  arter  all.  I  like  um  jes'  as  well 
as  fairy  story." 

"  You  ought  to  like  them  better,  Picter,"  said  Dora, 
earnestly,  "because  they  are  all  true,  and  it  is  God's 
own  book,  the  Bible  is." 

"  Lors,  yes,  missy,  I  know  dat.  I  knows  heaps  'bout 
de  Bible  —  lots  o'  pooty  sayin's  out  obit.  Read  me 'bout 
Dan'l  in  de  lion  den,  missy.  Spec's  dat  ar  houn'  wus 
dan  any  dem  lions.  Wouldn'  ha'  cotcht  'im  lettin'  Dan'l 
alone !  " 


CHAPTER    XI. 

"We  must  now  go  back  for  a  few  hours  to  the  dawning 
of  the  day  whose  evening  found  Dora  in  the  mountain 
cabin,  reading  the  story  of  Daniel  to  old  Pic. 

When  Mrs.  Wilson  shrilly  summoned  her  daughters  to 
arise,  she  called  Dora's  name  with  tlie  rest. 

"  Dora  ain't  here,"  sleepily  replied  Louisa. 

"  Ain't  there  !     Where  is  she,  then  ?  " 

"  I  don't  knoAV,  Pm  sure." 

"  Don't  you  know,  Jane  ?  '* 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"  She's  gone  out,  I  reckon.  The  door's  unbolted," 
suggested  Sam,  one  of  the  younger  boys,  who  had  risen 
early  to  go  fishing. 

"  Gone  a  walkin'  for  her  health  'fore  breakfast,  I  reck- 
on,' sneered  Mrs.  Wilson.  "  Ef  she  ain't  back  pooty 
soon,  I  can  tell  her  she'll  get  more  Avalk  than  breakfast. 
I  don't  believe  in  no  such  ways." 

The  breakfast  passed,  and  was  cleared  away.     Mrs. 

Wilson's  displeasure  at  her  niece's  absence  became  a  sort 

of  angry  alarm,  as   the   day  went  on,   and  brought  no 

tidings  of  her.     Just  before  noon,  Sam,  returning  from 

(90) 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF   THE  REGIMEXT.  91 

his  fishing,  brought  to  his  mother  a  little  bow  of  cherrj- 
colored  ribbon. 

''  There's  the  bow  Dora  had  pinned  on  her  gown  yes- 
terday—  ain't  it?  "  drawled  he. 

"  Yes,  I  b'lieve  so.  Whar'd  ye  git  it?"  asked  Mrs. 
Wilson. 

"  In  the  yard  of  their  old  house.  I  come  acrost  it 
coming  from  the  brook,  and  'bout  half  way  I  see  this  in 
the  path,  and  fetched  it  home.  Ain't  she  got  back 
yet?" 

"  No,"  said  his  mother,  slowly,  as  she  stood  with  her 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  bit  of  ribbon. 

"  So  she  went  up  to  the  old  house  all  'lone,  'fore  light. 
Where'd  she  go  next,  I'd  like  to  knoAv,"  said  she  to  her- 
self. ''  "Whar's  your  daddy,  Sam,  and  whar's  Dick 
loafing  now,  when  he  might  be  o'  some  use  ?  " 

"  They're  coming  up  to  the  house,  ma'am,  this  minit, 
and  a  strange  man  and  a  big  dog  'long  with  'em." 

Mrs.  Wilson  peeped  out  at  the  window. 

"It's  Pete  Flanders  and  his  hound,"  said  she.  "I 
s'pose  dad's  brought  him  home  to  dinner  ;  and  here's  the 
vittles  won't  be  done  this  half  hour.  'Clare  for't,  I  wish 
Cephas  'ud  let  me  know  'fore  he  brings  folks  home." 

The  men  now  entered,  and  Mr.  Wilson  somewhat 
sheepishly  informed  his  wife  that  Mr.  Flanders  would 
stay  to  dinner  with  them. 

The  dame  went  through  some  form  of  welcome,  not  of 


92  DORA  DARLING: 

the  heartiest,  and  then  proceeded,  with  the  help  of  her 
daughters,  to  lay  the  table  and  dish  the  dinner. 

When  they  were  seated,  she  mentioned  her  anxiety  at 
Dora's  prolonged  absence,  and  also  the  clew  to  her 
movements  given  by  the  cherry-colored  bow, 

"  "We  can  track  her  from  that  spot  easy  enough  with 
old  Vixen,"  said  Flanders,  eagerly. 

"  The  hound?  But  he'd  hurt  her,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson, 
dubiously. 

"  Lord,  ma'am,  Ave'd  muzzle  him.  He  couldn't  hurt 
a  babby  then,  'cept  by  knockin'  of  it  down." 

"  You  could  hold  him  in  a  leash  too,  last  part  of  the 
way,  couldn't  you  ?  "  asked  Dick. 

"  'Course  I  could.  The  gal  shan't  get  hurt,  and  per- 
haps we  shall  kill  both  birds  with  the  same  stone." 

"What  two  birds?"  Mrs.  Wilson  inquired ;  and  her 
husband  and  his  guest  went  on  to  tell  her  that  Scipio, 
one  of  Joe  Sykes's  "  niggers,"  had  run  away  on  the  pre- 
ceding night,  and  that  Joe  had  asked  Mr.  Wilson  to  go 
after  Flanders  and  his  dog  to  hunt  him.  Arriving  at 
Wilson's  house  just  at  dinner  time,  they  had  stopped 
there  first. 

More  than  this,  Dick  Wilson,  who  had  been  over  at 
Mr.  Sykes's  house  in  the  morning,  said  that  one  of  the 
boys  upon  the  place  had  been  overheard  saying  to  an- 
other that  he  "  reckoned  Scip  had  gone  off  with  Pic 
Darley  ; "  but  though  the  lad  had  been  strictly  exam- 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  93 

ined,  and  finally  put  to  the  torture  of  the  lash  to  make 
him  confess  that  he  had  seen  Picter,  nothing  could  be 
extorted  from  him  more  than  that  he  "thought  like 
enough  Pic  had  been  round,"  but  did  not  know  it  cer- 
tainly. 

"  I  never  see  anything  like  the  imperdence  of  niggers 
nowadays,"  remarked  Mr.  Flanders,  indignantly. 

"  There  ain't  no  gittin'  at  the  truth,  no  how,  'thout  you 
cut  it  right  out  o'  their  hides." 

"  Golly !  I  reckon  you'd  'a  thought  Joe  cut  deep 
enough  inter  that  boy's  hide  this  morning,  but  he  didn't 
come  to  the  truth,"  drawled  Dick. 

"  That's  cause  there  wan't  no  truth  in  him,  I  expect," 
said  Louisa,  with  the  air  of  one  who  utters  a  witticism. 

"  Truth,"  chimed  in  her  mother,  "  PU  put  all  the  truth 
you'll  find  in  a  nigger  inter  my  right  eye,  and  shan't  go 
blind  with  it  nuther.  I  never  b'lieve  a  word  they  say, 
and  I  tell  'em  so  straight  out." 

"  It's  no  wonder  they  lie  to  you  then,"  growled  Dick, 
who  was  quite  willing  to  argue  against  himself  for  the 
sake  of  opposing  his  mother. 

Dinner  was  now  ended,  and  the  men  and  dog  all  hur- 
ried away  to  Joe  Sykes's  house,  to  begin  the  exciting 
slave-hunt  that  they  had  prepared  for. 

But  no  clew  could  be  gained  to  the  starting-point  of 
the  fugitive,  who  was,  indeed,  at  that  moment  snugly 
concealed  in  the  great  barn,  having  judged  it  beet  to 


94  DOnA  DABLIXG^ 

wait  there  until  the  pursuit,  that  he  well  knew  would  be 
vigorously  conducted,  should  be  over,  and  the  country 
quiet,  when  he  intended  to  steal  away. 

This  little  plan  it  may  be  as  well  to  mention,  was 
afterwards  carried  out  with  perfect  success,  and  the 
"  boy  "  (aged  about  forty)  escaped  to  the  Union  lines, 
and  some  time  afterwards  carried  a  musket  at  the  battle 
of  Milliken's  Bend. 

The  hunt,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  was  an  entire 
failure  ;  but  Mr.  Flanders,  determined  to  lose  no  oppor- 
tunity of  turning  an  honest  penny,  now  offered  his  ser- 
vices to  Mr.  Wilson  at  a  reduced  rate,  for,  as  he  face- 
tiously remarked,  — 

"  Chillen  is  alluz  half  price,  you  know." 

"Well,  I  don't  suppose  you'll  have  to  ti-avel  very  far," 
replied  Mr.  Wilson,  who  Avas  incapable  of  taking  even 
so  mild  a  joke  as  that  offered  by  the  slave-hunter. 

"•  And  if  old  Pic  has  been  about,  it's  as  likely  as  any 
way  that  he'd  harbor  at  the  old  place  ;  and  maybe  Dora 
went  there  to  meet  him,  and  they've  took  off  together," 
suggested  Dick,  who  had  been  in  a  brown  study  ever 
since  dinner-time. 

This  idea  was  hailed  by  his  companions  as  little  short 
of  inspiration,  and  Dick  received  various  rough  compli- 
ments upon  the  brilliancy  and  penetration  of  his  mind. 

"  Waal,  it  takes  some  eyesight  to  see  inter  the  middle 
of  a  millstone,  that's  certain  ;  but  then,  when  you  git  to 


THE  DAUGRTER    OF  THE  REGIMEXT.  95 

thinking,  why,  sometimes  it  seems  as  if  you  could  figger 
out  most  anything,"  returned  the  lad,  with  a  modest 
pride,  very  refreshing  to  behold. 

"  Waal,  let's  git  to  vrork.  It'll  be  sundown  one  o' 
these  days,"  interposed  Flanders,  who  felt  that  his  own 
importance  must  not  be  suffered  to  fade  out  of  the  public 
mind. 

The  party  accordingly  adjourned  to  the  spot  where 
Sam  Wilson  had  picked  up  the  little  bow.  Here  a  shoe 
of  Dora's  was  given  the  dog  to  smell  of,  and  he  was  then 
laid  upon  the  scent. 

This  he  immediately  lifted,  and  set  off  at  such  speed 
that  the  men  could  hardly  keep  him  in  sight. 

Dick  again  suggested  that  he  should  be  held  in  leash 
or  muzzled  ;  but  the  slave-hunter  objected  that  either  of 
these  measures  would  retard  the  chase,  and  that  there 
could  be  no  danger,  as  the  child  would  not  be  in  the  open 
road  Avithin  a  few  miles  of  home. 

"She'll  be  hid  up  somewhere  —  in  a  cave,  or  up  a 
tree,  or  somewheres  like  that,  where  Vixen  couldn't 
reach  her.  Besides,  if  the  nigger's  with  her,  we  don't 
want  the  hound  muzzled,  and  Vixen  wouldn't  tech  a 
white  gal ;  she  knows  better'n  that,  'specially  when  there's 
nigger  to  be  got.  She's  trained  fust  rate,  that  dog  is, 
though  I  say  it  as  shouldn't  say  it,"  said  Mr.  Flanders, 
modestly. 

"  Well,"  retorted  Dick,  drawing  a  revolver  from  his 


96  DORA   DAIiLIXG: 

breast  pocket,  "  all  I've  got  to  say  is,  that  I'm  going  to 
keep  at  that  dog's  heels,  and  if  he  offers  to  touch  Dora, 
supposing  we  find  her,  I  shall  just  put  a  bullet  through 
his  head  for  you." 

"  Reckon  you'd  better  not  do  that,  young  man,  'thout 
you've  got  fifty  dollars  in  your  other  pocket.  That  dog 
ain't  to  be  shot  for  nothing." 

"  Nor  my  cousin  ain't  going  to  be  worried  like  that 
poor  wench  of  Sykes's  that  you  caught  two  year  ago  for 
him.     She  died  'fore  they  got  her  home,  she  did." 

"  Yes,  that  was  kind  o'  unfortnit,"  said  Flanders,  in  a 
lower  voice.  "  But  the  fool  might  'a  dim  a  tree  or  sun- 
thin',  and  got  out  of  his  way.  Wha'  'd  she  want  to  stop 
right  on  the  ground  for  ?  " 

"  I  don'  know  nothing  'bout  that,  but  this  I  do  know. 
If  that  dog  flies  at  Dora,  it'll  be  the  last  fly  he'll  ever 
make,"  returned  Dick,  emphatically,  as  he  set  off  after 
the  dog,  on  a  long  lope,  that  could  evidently  be  kept  up 
by  so  active  a  young  fellow  as  Dick  for  a  long  period. 

The  others  followed  more  slowly,  two  or  three  on 
horseback,  the  less  fortunate  on  foot. 

The  hound  mutely  followed  the  trail  of  the  fugitives  in 
all  its  many  windings,  and  Dick  mentally  concluded,  from, 
its  irregular  and  capricious  course,  that  it  had  been 
traversed  in  the  darkness  of  night. 

"  Poor  little  Do,"  thought  he,  "  I  wonder  if  she  wa'n't 
ficart.     I  'most  hope  old  Pic  was  with  her.     By  George, 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMEXT.  97 

if  he  is,  and  she  seems  to  care  about  him,  I'll  give  him  a 
chance  to  make  off  before  the  others  come  up." 

This  benevolent  intention  was  still  fresh  in  the  young 
man's  mind,  when  the  hound  stopped  beneath  the  old 
oak,  concealing  the  entrance  to  the  tunnel,  and  uttered 
an  impatient  howl,  followed  by  a  furious  bark. 

"  She's  tree'd  'em  !  "  exclaimed  Dick,  hurrying  up, 
and  looking  eagerly  into  the  tree. 

"  Say,  Dora  !  "  called  he  softly,  "  if  you're  up  there, 
speak  quick.  No  one  ain't  going  to  hurt  you  while  I'm 
round,  and  if  you've  got  Pic  with  you,  I'll  give  him  a 
chance  to  get  off  before  the  rest  come  up." 

To  this  proposal  there  was,  of  course,  no  reply,  and 
Dick  now  perceived  that  the  dog  was  tearing  at  the 
brush  and  broken  branches  wedged  between  the  rock  and 
tree.  He  at  once  concluded  that  there  must  be  a  cave  in 
this  rock,  and  that  the  brush  concealed  its'  entrance.  He 
hastened  to  drag  away  the  obstructions,  but,  to  his  great 
surprise,  the  face  of  the  cliff  was  perfectly  smooth  and 
unbroken.  The  dog  also  appeared  somcAvhat  puzzled, 
but  still  persisted  in  clinging  to  the  little  space  between 
the  oak  and  the  cliff,  and  whimpering  with  impatience  at 
not  finding  it  possible  to  pursue  the  trail. 

The  rest  of  the  party  now  came  up,  and  the  united 

wisdom   of  the  whole   finally  succeeded  in   solving  the 

problem.     The  large  stone  was  pushed  aside,  the  tunnel 

discovered,  and  every  one  drew  back  a  little,  expecting 

9 


9S  DORA   DAHLIKG: 

a  shot  or  desperate  charge  from  within,  for  all  were  now 
agreed  that  the  little  girl  could  not  be  alone. 

Nothing  of  the  kind  happened,  however,  and  after  a 
moment  or  two,  Dick  boldly  advanced,  and  looked  into 
the  opening. 

•'  Golly,  that's  curious  !  "  exclaimed  he.  "  There's  a 
hole  here  jist  like  a  fox-hole.  I  reckon  they've  burrowed 
down  and  hid  since  they  heard  us  outside." 

All  how  crowded  forward  to  look,  and  for  some  mo- 
ments nothing  was  to  be  heard  but  a  confused  wrangle 
of  voices,  each  one  suggesting  his  own  opinion  or  advice, 
and  rudely  contradicting  that  of  every  one  else. 

"  "Waal,  they're  in  there  safe  enough,"  said  Flanders, 
at  length  ;  "  now  who's  going  down  to  fetch  'em  out?  I 
can  p'int  to  a  man  as  ain't.  I  hain't  got  no  fancy  fer 
havin'  my  throat  cut  by  a  nigger  in  a  dark  hole  like 
this'n.  I'll  send  in  the  pup  if  you  say  so,  or  you  may 
go  yourself,  young  man,  sence  you're  so  tender  of  the 
gal  getting  scared.'' 

Dick,  without  reply,  advanced  a  little  way  into  the 
tunnel,  and  called  repeatedly  to  Dora,  promising  safety 
and  protection  both  then  and  at  home  if  she  would  only 
come  out  to  him,  and  suggesting  that  if  she  refused,  the 
dog  would  next  be  sent  to  summon  her,  and  might  prove 
a  less  considerate  messenger  than  himself. 

To  this  artful  harangue  there  was  naturally  no  reply, 
as  none  of  it  reached  the  ears  of  any  one  but  the  speaker, 
and  Dick  presently  reappeared,  somewhat  disappointed. 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  EEGIMEXT.  99 

"There's  no  one  there,"  said  he,  sulkily.  "The  dog 
has  got  off  the  right  scent,  and  been  trailing  a  fox  or  a 
badger,  I  reckon." 

"  Foxes  and  badgers  ain't  so  curus  about  shutting 
their  front  doors  when  they  go  to  bed,"  sneered  Flan- 
ders. 

"  The  stuff's  blow'd  in  sence  the  hole  was  given  up, 
I  reckon,"  said  Dick,  hastily. 

"  My  dawg  don't  run  on  a  last  year's  trail  of  a  fox  or 
badger,  when  he's  sot  on  the  fresh  trail  of  a  human," 
said  Flanders,  with  offended  dignity. 

"Muzzle  the  hound,  and  send  him  in,  Flanders,"  in. 
terposed  Wilson.     "  He'll  soon  tell  us  what's  inside. 

To  this  proposition,  after  some  further  discussion, 
every  one  agreed  ;  and  Yixen,  after  a  little  encouragement 
from  her  master,  plunged  into  the  tunnel  and  disap- 
peared. The  men  followed  cautiously,  and  paused  be- 
fore they  had  quite  lost  sight  of  daylight. 

The  muffled  cries  of  the  dog  soon  announced  that  she 
had  met  with  some  obstacle  ;  but  before  the  listeners  had 
decided  upon  the  nature  of  this,  the  sudden  rush  and 
crash  of  Picter's  land  avalanche,  and  the  clouds  of  dust 
accompanying  it,  drove  them  tumultuously  from  the 
entrance  ;  nor  did  one  of  them  care  to  reenter  it,  even 
to  ascertain  the  fate  of  tl^e  hound,  whose  loss  Flanders 
loudly  and  somewhat  indignantly  lamented. 

A  long  and  heated  discussion  of  these  events,  contin- 


100  DOHA  DARLIXG. 

ued  even  after  the  party  were  seated  in  friendly  conclave 
at  "  the  grocery,"  where  they  spent  the  evening,  resulted 
in  the  almost  unanimous  conclusion  that  Dora  and  Picter 
had  been  hidden  in  the  cave,  which  was  supposed  to  be 
of  small  extent,  and  that  upon  the  approach  of  the  dog, 
they  had  made  some  effort  to  escape  by  climbing  its 
sides,  that  had  brought  the  whole  do\vn  upon  their  heads, 
burying  themselves  and  the  hound  in  a  common  grave. 

So  Mrs.  Wilson  entered  into  undisturbed  possession 
of  the  orphan's  heritage,  and  did  not  find  it  so  satisfac- 
tory as  she  had  expected. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

"  Dat  mighty  pooty  story,  missy ;  but  I  reckon  dem 
lions  had  got  a  bite  ob  sumfin'  'fore  Dan'l  was  frowed  in, 
or  they  wouldn't  ha'  been  so  'commodatin'  as  ter  hold  off 
till  de  ole  king  change  he  mind." 

"  Why,  Picter,  it  was  a  miracle  that  made  them,"  ex- 
plained Dora,  earnestly. 

''Meracle,  missy?  Well,  it  seems  to  dis  ole  fool  dat 
meracles  mos'ly  has  got  two  sides  to  'em  ;  an'  some  folks, 
mos'ly  chillen  an'  women,  on'y  look  to  one  side,  whilst 
we  dat  am  men  folks  'sider  bof." 

Dora,  rather  offended  both  at  the  incredulity  and  the 
line  of  argument,  said  nothing,  but,  turning  over  the 
leaves  of  her  Bible,  read  here  and  there  a  verse  to  her- 
self. Picter  watched  lifer  furtively  for  a  while,  and  then 
added,  coaxiugly, — 

"  Bud,  den,  missy,  yore  mammy  fole  me  once  dat  we 
wasn'  to  be  saved  by  our  own  wisdom,  bud  by  faith  ;  so, 
p'r'aps,  after  all,  you  stan's  a  better  chance  dan  I  does." 

To  Picter's  surprise,  Dora  abruptly  closed  her  book, 
and  laughed  outright  —  a  merry,  girlish  laugh,  such  as 
had  not  come  from  her  pale  lips  for  many  a  week  before  ; 
9  *  (101) 


102  DORA   DARLIXG: 

but  the  idea  of  Picter's  wisdom  standing  in  the  way  of 
his  spiritual  advancement,  struck  her  as  an  uncommonly 
funny  one. 

"  Well,  dear  old  Uncle  Pic,"  said  she,  after  a  moment 
of  merriment,  "  if  your  wisdom  will  get  us  safely  out  of 
this  valley,  and  to  the  Union  camp,  I  won't  ask  it  to  do 
any  more.  We  can  talk  about  Daniel  and  the  lions 
another  time." 

"  Yes,  missy,  I  specs  'tis  'bout  time  to  be  movin'," 
replied  Pic,  with  such  readiness  one  would  almost  have 
suspected  him  to  be  glad  of  an  excuse  for  withdrawing 
from  the  argument. 

Dora,  with  a  quiet  smile,  occupied  herself  in  ptitting 
together  the  things  they  were  to  carry  with  them,  and 
leaving  the  cabin  in  such  order  as  must  have  much  sur- 
prised the  next  comer. 

Pic,  meantime,  went  out  to  reconnoitre,  and  at  the 
end  of  about  half  an  hour  returned  with  a  beaming  coun- 
tenance. 

"  All  right,  missy,"  said  he,  joyfully.  "  Dey's  cleared, 
horse,  foot,  an'  dragons,  as  we  says  in  de  army.  We're 
all  j'ight  now ;  bud  it's  comin'  on  awful  cold,  an'  you 
mus'  take  de  branket  to  wrop  Toun'  your  liliy  shouFers. 
Tell  'e  what,  missy ;  'tain't  a  loaf,  bud  a  hull  bakin'  o' 
white  bread  we's  a  gittin'  fer  dat  corn-cake  yer  mammy 
frowed  inter  de  water  w'en  she  gib  'um  branket  to  Cap- 
tain Charley." 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  103 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  put  it  on  for  a  shawl ;  but  what  will 
you  do,  Pic?     Won't  you  be  cold?" 

"  Neber  fear  fer  dis  chile,  missy.  I  got  big  sojer 
coat,  dat  one  ob  our  fellers  pick  up  arter  de  battle  ob  de 
Elk  Water.  De  ole  rebs  didn'  stay  to  pack  up  dey  trunks 
dat  time,  dey  lef *  in  sech  a  hurry.  Now  here's  de  saddle 
for  de  ole  hoss.     Guess  I'll  frow  it  down  fus'." 

"And  here  are  the  bread  and  meat  in  this  bundle,  and 
there  are  some  cold  roasted  sweet  potatoes.  Shall  we 
want  them,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Lors,  yis,  missy,  dem's  fus'  rate  ;  I'd  like  to  eat  ha'f 
a  dozen  dis  bressed  minit.  Here,  I'll  put  dem  in  ray 
pocket,  an'  you  can  carry  de  bundle  till  I  gits  red  o'  dis 
saddle,  —  after  dat  I'll  take  it ;  and  de  branket  we'll  frow 
'long  o'  de  saddle.  We  don'  want  nof&n'  to  carry  w'en 
we  gits  to  scram'lin'  down  dem  rocks." 

All  was  now  ready  for  departure,  and  Picter,  after 
standing  at  the  door  a  few  minutes  to  listen  for  any 
alarming  sound,  announced  that  all  was  safe  ;  and,  care- 
fully closing  the  door  of  the  cabin,  he  proceeded,  followed 
by  Dora,  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  and  threw  down  into 
the  valley  the  various  articles  carried  by  each,  including 
Dora's  shoes  and  stockinets  and  Picter's  bro^-ans. 

He  then  stepped  down  to  the  first  ledge,  and,  so  soon  as 
his  feet  were  set  upon  the  second,  directed  Dora  to  fol- 
low, he  remaining  near  enough  to  help  and  protect  her 
very  considerably  in  the  perilous  descent.     The  child, 


104  DORA   DARLIXG: 

with  neither  complaint  nor  exclamation  of  any  kind,  did 
exactly  as  she  was  bid ;  and,  after  ten  or  fifteen  minutes 
of  anxious  exertion,  the  two  found  themselves  in  safety 
upon  the  dry  ground  at  the  foot  of  the  fall. 

"  Now,  den,  missy,  dat's  all  ober,  an'  you's  de  bestest 
lilly  lady  in  dese  U-nited  State  fer  doin'  it  so  nice  and 
quiet.  I's  'fraid  you'd  holler  ;  an'  dat  'ud  ha'  scared  me, 
and  spike  us  bof.  Xow,  here's  de  branket,  an'  you  jes' 
wrop  youse'f  all  up  in  it,  an'  set  down  here  till  I  gits  de 
hoss  ready.     Isn'  you  aAvful  wet  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  not  very  wet ;  but  I  wan't  to  see  how  you'll 
catch  the  horse.  I  don't  believe  you  can,"  said  Dora, 
slyly. 

"  Dat  'cause  you  don'  know,  chile,"  said  Picter,  a  little 
indignantly.  "  Dere  ain't  no  bother  'bout  cotchin'  dis 
yer  hoss,  any  way,  w'en  dis  yer  nigger  is  de  one  to 
cotch  um." 

So  saying,  Picter  picked  up  the  bridle,  which  he  had 
throv^Ti  down  with  the  saddle,  and  marched  directly  up 
to  the  horse,  who  had  left  off  feeding,  and  stood  Avith 
head  erect  watching  him. 

"  Here,  ole  Jump,  Ps  gwine  to  put  on  yer  bridle,  now. 
Specs  yer  hasn'  had  sech  a  bellyful  sence  yer  come  to  de 
war,  'fore.     Xow's  de  time  to  pay  for  it,  ole  boy." 

But  Jump,  although  he  may  have  agreed  with  his  tem- 
porary master's  opinion  as  to  the  abundance  of  his  two 
days'  feast,  was  disposed  to  differ  with  him  as  to  tlie 


TUE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMEyT.  105 

propriety  of  leaving  it.  As  Picter  boldly  approached,  bri- 
dle in  hand,  Jump,  with  a  wild  snort,  suddenly  wheeled, 
and  lashed  out  with  his  hind  legs  in  a  decidedly  danger- 
ous manner. 

"  AV'y,  you  ole  cuss  !  "  exclaimed  Picter  in  great  wrath, 
as  he  sprang  backward  to  escape  the  kick.  "  Am  dat 
all  de  manners  you  got,  arter  Ps  been  so  good  to  ye  ? 
Jes'  you  wait  till  I  gits  back  ter  camp,  and  see  if  I 
doesn'  borry  de  biggest  pa'r  o'  spurs  dere  is  goin',  an' 
ride  ye  up  an'  down  dat  mountain  till  ye  hollers,  '  Nuff 
said.'  " 

''Ha,  ha,  ha!"  laughed  Dora,  gleefully.  "  O,  Pic, 
you'll  kill  me  right  out !  0,  Pic !  the  horse  hallooing 
'  Nuff  said  ' !     Do  the  Yankee  horses  talk,  Picter?  " 

"  Don't  ee,  missy,  don't !  "  expostulated  Picter,  almost 
crossly.  "  How  can  I  talk  sense  w'en  you  keeps  a 
'stractin'  my  'tention?  You  jes'  creep  inter  de  tree  dah, 
out  de  way,  chile.  Mabbe  de  ole  fool'U  go  ter  kickin' 
dat  way  nex'." 

"  But  why  don't  you  catch  him,  Picter,  the  same  way 
you  always  do  ?  I  thought  there  wasn't  any  bother  about 
it,  you  said,"  continued  Dora,  mischievously,  while  she 
nestled  herself  into  the  branches  of  the  pine  that  closed 
the  passage. 

To  this  little  jibe  Pic  made  no  reply,  while,  with  alter- 
nate threats  and  coaxing,  he  applied  himself  seriously  to 
the  task  of  catching  the  horse. 


106  DORA  DARLING: 

But  Jump,  on  this  occasion  if  never  before,  made  good 
his  claim  to  his  peculiar  name,  and  indulged  in  a  series 
of  leaps,  curvets,  plunges,  rearings,  and  prancings,  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  a  mustang  of  the  prairies. 

At  last,  however,  he  seemed  suddenly  to  consider  that 
this  course,  although  pleasant  at  the  time,  might  not  be 
of  advantage  to  his  future  comfort,  when  he  should 
finally  be  obliged  to  submit  to  tlie  halter  ;  or  else  he  had 
become  tired  of  the  performance.  At  any  rate,  he  all 
at  once  stood  still,  and  allowed  Picter  to  approach  and 
put  the  bridle  over  his  head  Avithout  making  the  slightest 
resistance. 

"  Now,  den,  you  ole  brack  debil ! "  exclaimed  the 
wrathful  negro,  so  soon  as  he  could  gather  breath  enough 
to  speak.  "  Wat  you  spec  I's  gwine  to  do  wid  ye,  now? 
You  'sarve  to  hab  ebery  bone  you's  got  broke  inter 
twenty  t'ousan'  pieces,  an'  hab  yer  skin  all  cut  off  ob 
dem  arterwards  ;  an'  I's  a  great  mind  ter  do  it." 

"  But  how  should  we  get  to  the  camp,  if  you  did,  Pic- 
ter?" asked  a  merry  voice  from  the  pine  tree. 

''  Shore  'nough,  chile  ;  an',  arter  all,  de  pore  beast 
didn'  mean  no  harm  ;  but  lors,  how  he  did  cut  up  !  Real 
r'dic'lous,  now,  wa'n't  it  ?  "  replied  the  good-natured  ne- 
gro, in  whose  mind  the  laughable  side  of  the  little  skirmish 
between  himself  and  Jump  had  already  overcome  the  an- 
noyance, and  before  he  had  finished  buckling  the  saddle- 
girths  he  was  obliged  to  stop  and  roll  on  the  grass  in  a 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF   THE   REGIMENT.  107 

paroxysm  of  laughter  at  the  memory  of  some  of  the 
horse's  gambols. 

Dora  joined  in  the  laugh,  but  presently  recalled  to 
Picter's  attention  the  necessity  of  getting  started,  at  least, 
upon  their  journey,  before  it  shoiild  be  quite  dark,  as  the 
first  miles  of  their  road  lay  through  the  forest,  and  among 
the  mountains,  where  it  would  be  very  easy  to  get  lost, 
especially  by  night. 

"  Neber  fear,  missy  ;  de  star  gwine  to  be  orful  bright, 
an'  dey's  jes*  de  same  as  hebenly  guide-boards,  'specially 
to  us  cullud  folks,  dat  couldn'  read  de  guide-board,  an' 
can  read  dc  stars,  'specially  de  norf  star.  Spec  dat  star 
was  made  o'  purpose  ter  help  de  poor  niggers  to  dere 
freedom.  How  many  Gospels  is  dere  in  de  New  Tes'a- 
ment,  missy?  " 

"  Four." 

"  Well,  de  norf  star  makes  five  ;  and  seeiu'  dat,  makes 
it  easy  to  berieve  all  the  res',"  said  Picter,  meditatively. 

"  Come,  then.  Uncle  Pic,  let's  set  out  to  travel  towards 
it,"  replied  Dora,  gently. 

"  Dat  you,  missy.  We's  trabellin'  for  de  norf  star,  all 
ob  us,  brack  an'  w'ite ;  fer  dere's  many  a  mas'r  an* 
mist's  dat  don'  git  dere  freedom  till  dey's  trabelled  clear 
oiF  de  earth,  an'  git  'mongst  de  stars.  Yore  own  mammy 
was  one  o'  dat  sort,  honey." 

"  Don't  let  us  talk  about  that,  Picter,"  said  Dora,  softly  ; 
for  although  she  knew,  even  better  than  the  negro,  that 


108  DORA    DARLIXG. 

her  mother's  married  life  and  associations  had  been  little 
better  than  bondage,  she  felt  it  a  profanation  and  an  in- 
delicacy to  speak  of  it,  or  even  to  allow  the  faithful  old 
servant  to  do  so. 

Picter,  with  native  tact,  understood  her  feeling,  and 
made  no  reply. 

The  horse  was  now  ready,  and  the  pine  tree  being 
thrown  aside,  he  quietly  allowed  himself  to  be  led  through 
the  bed  of  the  stream,  and  into  the  valley  that  lay  be- 
yond. 

Dora  followed,  and  sat  down  upon  the  bank  to  put  on 
again  her  shoes  and  stockings. 

"  Now  then.  Uncle  Pic,  all  ready  for  the  line  of 
march,"  said  she  gayly,  as  she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  All  ready,  honey,"  replied  the  negTO,  lifting  her  to 
an  extemporized  pillion  behind  the  saddle,  and  then 
heavily  mounting  himself. 

"  Now  den,  ole  Jump  !  Hol'  fas',  missy  !  "  and  through 
the  clear  twilight  of  the  October  evening  the  weather- 
beaten  old  slave  and  the  slender,  bright-eyed  little  girl 
set  out  tos^ether  to  travel  towards  the  north  star. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

"  You  never  have  told  me  yet  where  we  are  going, 
Picter,"  said  Dora,  as  they  jogged  along  at  an  easy  rate. 
"  Where  is  the  Yankee  camp  ?  " 

''  On  de  top  of  what  dey  call  Cheat  Mountain,  chile," 
said  Pic,  with  much  importance.  "  Wen  me  an'  Cap'n 
Charley  got  away,  he  tol'  me  dat  we  should  fin'  some 
sojers  dah,  dough  I  b'lieve  dey  wasn't  de  ones  dat  he 
rightly  belong  to  ;  but  he  ain't  in  no  rig'lar  comp'ny  jes' 
now,  'cause  his'n  has  gone  home.  Bud  he  'scribed  de 
place  to  me,  an'  I  know'd  how  to  get  dere  fus'  rate,  an* 
showed  um  de  Avay." 

*'  And  are  there  many  soldiers  there?  " 

"  Heaps  on  em,  chile.  Dey  isn't  all  in  one  camp,  you 
knows,  but  ebery  rigimint  by  hese'f.  Our  rigimint  is  de 
—  Ohio.  Dat's  de  one  dey  put  Cap'n  Charley  into,  soon's 
we  got  dah." 

'•'  And  Avhat  do  you  do,  Picter?     Do  you  fight?  " 

"  Well,  no,  honey,  I  hasn'  done    any  fightin'  yit.     I 

helps  do   de  cookin'  mos'ly,  so  fur.     'Tain't  no  use  fer 

sojers  try  to  fight  we'n  dey  starviu'  ;   so  I  reckon  de  fel- 

10 

(109) 


110  DORA  DARLIXG: 

ler  dat  does  de  cookiii'  is,  afer  all,  de  one  dat  wins  do 
battle,  fer  'twould  be  lost  shore  widout  him." 

"To  be  sure  it  would,"  assented  Dora,  smiling. 
"  They  ought  to  call  you  general,  at  least,  Picter." 

"Well,  honey,  I's  'fraid  my  wirtue  is  more  pertic'lar 
dan  general,  so  fur,"  said  Pic.  "  Bud  now,  missy,  I 
wants  to  tell  yer  sumfin'.  S'posin'  we  meets  one  ob  de 
rebels,  or  any  one  but  a  Liukum  sojer,  we's  got  ter  'xplain 
who  we  is,  an'  what  we'm  about.  Now,  I  reck'n  dis 
yer'll  be  de  safes'  story,  'sides  not  bein'  any  lie.  I'll  tell 
um  you's  my  lilly  mist's  ;  dat  my  ole  mist's  is  done  gone 
dead,  an'  my  mas'r  fightin'  in  de  army  ;  an'  my  mist's, 
'fore  she  died,  said  dat  de  chile  was  to  go  lib  long  ob  her 
aunty,  jes'  leetly  way  norf  ob  here.  Den  dey'll  ax  fer 
pass,  mabbe,  an'  you'll  speak  up  real  peart  an'  say,  '  What 
fer  my  nigger  want  a  pass,  when  he  got  his  mist's  'long 
wid  him.  He  my  sarvent,  an'  trabelin'  'long  o'  me. 
Dat's  'nough.'  " 

"  Well,  that's  all  true  enough,  Picter ;  but  it  would 
be  deceiving  them  to  tell  it,"  said  Dora,  rather  doubt- 
fully. 

"  'Ceivin',  missy  !  Lord,  ef  we  don't  have  ter  do  no 
wus  deceivin'  dan  dat  ar,  'fore  we  gits  to  camp,  we'm 
lucky  fellers  ;  dat  all  I  got  to  say.  Why,  yore  own  mam- 
my 'ud  lie  up  hill  an'  down,  'fore  she'd  let  you  be  took 
now,  an'  kerried  back,  let  alone  ole  Pic." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Picter?  " 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMEXT.   "  111 

"  I  knows  it,  missy.  It  say  in  de  Bible  dat  de  end 
justerfy  de  means." 

"  0,  no,  Pic  ;  that  isn't  in  the  Bible  at  all,"  said  Dora, 
decidedly. 

"Well,  if  tain't,  itoughter  be,  fer  it's  de  truf,"  asserted 
Picter,  doggedly.  "  Now,  mind,  honey,  an'  tell  de  story 
straight,  an'  face  it  out  dat  it's  de  truf  right  frew,  fer  ef 
we'm  took,  dey'll  kerry  you  back  to  your  aunty  Wilson, 
an'  poor  ole  Pic,  dat  corned  back  a  purpose  to  fotch  ye 
aw^ay,  will  git  licked  to  def,  p'raps." 

"  O,  Picter,  how  horrid  !  Yes,  I  am  sure  mother  would 
think  it  was  worse  to  let  that  happen,  than  to  deceive  the 
rebels.     But  I  don't  want  to  tell  any  lies." 

"  Neber  fear,  missy  ;  I'll  do  all  de  lyin'  fer  bof  ob  us. 
'Two n't  hurt  me  a  mite." 

Dora,  instead  of  replying,  fell  into  a  puzzled  reverie 
upon  the  question  of  speaking  the  exact  truth  at  all  times, 
and  under  all  circumstances,  and  longed,  as  she  had 
longed  many  a  time  before,  to  be  able  to  go  to  her  dear 
mother's  side,  and  lay  all  her  doubts  and  troubles  before 
her. 

The  night  went  on.  The  great  constellations  rose, 
climbed  the  summit  of  the  heavens,  and  sank.  The  air 
grew  chill  and  heavy,  and  the  eyes  of  the  poor,  tired 
child  dropped  together  with  weariness.  Laying  her  head 
upon  Picter's  broad  shoulders,  and  clinging  to  his  belt, 
she   slept   soundly,  wrapped  in   her   blanket,  and   was 


112  DOB  A   DARLING: 

sweetly  dreaming  of  home  and  mother,  when  she  was 
suddenly  aroused  by  the  halt  of  the  horse,  and  a  stern 
voice  demanding,  — 

"Who  goes  there?" 

"  Now  fer  it !  Missy,  missy,  wake  up,  an'  git  yer  wits 
about  ye,"  whispered  Pic  hoarsely,  and  in  the  same 
breath  answered  aloud  to  the  challenge, — 

"  Lor,  mas'r  sojer,  'taint  on'y  mist's  an'  me." 

"Who  is  your  mistress?  Let  her  speak,"  said  the 
sentinel,  after  a  little  pause. 

"  Miss  Jones  her  name.  She  right  here  on  de  boss 
'long  o'  me." 

"What  do  you  want,  Miss  Jones,  in  this  camp?" 
asked  the  sentinel,  courteously. 

"  I  don't  want  anything  in  camp,"  replied  Dora, 
steadily.  "  I  am  travelling  to  the  northern  part  of  the 
state  with  my  servant,  and  we  didn't  know  of  a  camp 
about  here." 

"  Why,  that's  a  child's  voice,"  exclaimed  the  sentinel, 
abruptly.     "  How  old  are  you.  Miss  Jones?" 

"  Twelve  years  old." 

"And  travelling  alone  at  night  with  this  negi'o  !  How's 
that  ?  "  asked  the  man,  suspiciously,  as  he  peered  through 
the  dim,  gray  light  of  dawn  at  the  horse  and  riders. 

"  We  are  in  a  hurry,  and  wished  to  travel  part  of  the 
way  to-night,  and  have  got  a  little  out  of  our  way,  I  sup- 
pose," said  Dora,  quietly. 

••  K'm.     Well,  you  can't  pass  this   way  without  the 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIME  XT.  113 

countersign,  and  I  think  the  colonel  had  better  talk  with 
you  a  little  before  you  go  back.  I  shall  be  relieved  in  a 
few  minutes,  and  then  I'll  take  you  to  him." 

"  We'm  much  obleege,"  ventured  Pic  ;  "  but  Hain't  a  bit 
Avuf  Avhile  to  bother  the  kunnel  'bout  us,  an'  we'm  in 
most  a  awful  hurry.  Ef  dis  yer  ain't  de  way,  we'll  jes' 
go  back  a  piece,  an'  fin'  anoder  road." 

"  Halt,  there  !  If  you  go  either  backward  or  forward 
a  step,  I'll  shoot  you,  you  black  scoundrel !  "  exclaimed 
the  soldier,  sternly.  "  I  think,  for  my  part,  your  story 
is  a  very  queer  one,  and  I  shall  detain  you  for  examina- 
tion." 

"  Don't  say  any  more.  Pic,"  whispered  Dora,  softly. 
"  By  and  by  you  can  turn  suddenly,  and  be  off  before 
he  can  shoot." 

Her  advice  was  cut  short  by  another  order  from  the 
sentinel. 

"  Dismount,  boy,  and  tie  your  horse  to  this  tree.  Then 
stand  out  in  the  road  in  sight." 

"Neber  fear,  missy;  we'll  fool  'em  yet,"  whispered 
Picter,  hastily,  as  he  slowly  obeyed  so  far  as  to  dismount ; 
but  the  knot  w^ith  which  he  tied  Jump  to  the  sapling  in- 
dicated by  the  sentinel  was  such  that  a  single  pull  at  the 
bridle  would  loos&n  it  and  although  he  posted  himself  in 
the  middle  of  the  road,  it  was  with  every  muscle  ready 
for  a  spring  to  the  horse's  back,  should  any  opportunity 
of  escape  present  itself. 

10*  . 


114  DORA   DAELIXG: 

None,  however,  appeared.  The  sentinel  never  for  a 
moment  relaxed  his  vigilance,  and  the  cold,  gray  light  of 
the  morning  gleamed  warningly  from  the  barrel  of  his 
musket.  He  did  not  make  any  further  remark,  and 
when  Pic,  unable  to  long  remain  silent,  attempted  to 
enter  into  conversation,  he  was  sternly  ordered  to  "  liold 
his  tongue." 

A  long  half  hour  passed,  and  then  approaching  foot- 
steps were  heard,  and  the  challenge,  "Who  goes  there?" 
was  returned  by  the  countersign,  "  Confederacy,"  as 
"  the  relief"  came  up,  and  after  a  hurried  glance  at  the 
prisoners,  made  some  inquiries  of  his  comrade  concern- 
ing them. 

The  latter  in  a  low  voice  explained  his  suspicions  and 
his  intention  of  taking  them  immediately  to  "the  bridge," 
that  the  question  of  their  detention  might  be  decided  by 
the  colonel. 

"  The  colonel  ain't  there  now ;  he's  gone  back  to 
camp,"  said  the  new  comer. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  the  captain  will  send  them  up.  I 
shall  report  to  him,  at  any  rate.  Come  then,  boy,  untie 
your  nag,  and  lead  him  along  ;  or  stop  —  I'll  lead  him, 
and  you  go  in  front.     Right  along  this  path.     Step  I  " 

Picter,  without  reply,  shambled  along  in  the  direction 
indicated,  followed  by  the  young  soldier,  leading  Jump, 
with  Dora  sitting  erect  and  indignant  in  the  saddle. 
The  morning  had  now  fully  opened,  clear  and  beautiful. 
Through  the  thin  foliage  of  the  wood  the  little  girl  pres- 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  115 

entlj  caught  the  blue  sparkle  of  running  Avater,  and  a 
rippling  murmur  as  of  a  stream  at  hand. 

It  was,  though  Dora  did  not  know  it,  Green  Brier 
River,  and  their  guide  was  a  vidette  from  a  rebel  com- 
pany stationed  at  the  bridge  across  it,  to  watch  for  the 
federal  troops,  of  whose  approach  the  rebel  general  had 
been  warned  some  hours  previously. 

Emerging  from  the  wood  at  some  little  distance  from 
the  bridge,  the  prisoners  caught  one  glance  of  the  spar- 
kling stream,  the  -winding  mountain  road  beyond  it,  and 
of  dark  lines  of  gray-coated  men  drawn  up  at  the  end 
of  the  bridge  nearest  to  them,  in  position  to  defend  it. 
All  this  they  saw  in  the  first  instant ;  in  the  next  their 
eyes  were  blinded  by  a  blaze  of  fire  from  the  mouths  of 
a  hundred  muskets,  while  the  sulphurous  smoke  and 
deafening  rattle  of  their  breath  stunned  and  suffocated 
them. 

Captor  and  captured  started  back  instinctively  to  the 
shelter  of  the  trees,  for,  as  if  it  were  the  echo  of  the 
first,  another  crash  of  musketry  pealed  from  the  other 
side  of  the  river,  another  flashing  cloud  of  fire  and  smoke 
filled  the  air,  while  over  their  heads,  and  among  the 
trees  at  either  hand,  pattered  and  whistled  the  leaden 
hail  born  of  that  portentous  cloud.  Wild  shouts,  near 
at  hand  and  farther  off,  next  arose  upon  the  air,  min- 
gled wdth  the  ring  of  many  feet  as  they  rushed  across 
the  bridge.  All  passed  in  a  single  moment.  In  the 
next  the  sentinel  exclaimed  eagerly, — 


116  DORA   DARLING: 

"  The  Yankees,  by  thunder  !  "  and,  dropping  the  bridle 
of  the  horse,  he  rushed  forward  to  join  the  fray. 

"  Now's  de  time,  missy,"  exclaimed  Picter,  eagerly, 
as  he  darted  forward  and  caught  the  rein  before  Jump 
had  time  to  plunge  away,  as  he  evidently  wished  to  do. 

"  Now  what  w^e's  to  do  is  to  git  out  ob  de  way  ob  all 
ban's,  till  de  fight's  ober,  an'  den  jine  our  own  men." 

"Quick  then,  Pic.  Mount  before  me  ;  that  other  man 
behind  us,  the  guard,  will  be  up  in  a  minute  ;  he'll  hear 
the  firing." 

"  To  be  shore  he  will ;  here  we  be.     Xow  den." 

Turning  the  horse's  head  directly  into  the  woods, 
Picter  soon  put  himself  and  his  companion  out  of  reach 
or  sight  of  the  combatants  ;  but  curiosity  as  to  the  event 
of  the  fight  so  strongly  pressed  him,  that  he  was  no 
sooner  in  safety  than  he  abandoned  the  reins  to  Dora, 
while  he  hastily  climbed  a  tall  chestnut  tree,  and  finally 
got  a  view  of  the  bridge. 

"Hooray!"  exclaimed  he  so  soon  as  his  eyes  rested 
upon  the  scene.  "  Dat's  you,  Yanks.  Gib  it  um  !  Lor, 
how  dey  does  come  peltin'  down  on  'em  !  Dat's  it ;  pour 
it  in,  hot  and  heavy,  blue-coats  !  Now  dey  feels  it ;  now 
dey  squirms  !  At  'em,  boys  !  Hit  um  agin  ;  hole  dah 
noses  down  to  de  grin'stone,  an'  gib  um  anoder  turn  o'  de 
handle.  Dat's  it !  Hooray,  now  !  Dere  dey  runs  ! 
Now  dey  scampers  !  Foot  it,  ole  gray-backs  !  Run  yer 
pootiest !  Let  out  den  !  Prick  'em  up,  boys,  wid  de 
baggonets  !     Show  um  de  way  to  make  time  !     O,  golly  ! 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMEXT.  117 

if  dis  yer  ain't  a  bressed  sight,  den  I  didn'  neber  see 
one,  on'y  it  didn'  las'  long  enough ;  deys  all  out  o'  sight 
now,  ebery  moder's  son  ob  'em,  de  gray-coats  heavin' 
away  dey  coats,  an'  guns,  an'  knapsacks,  like  as  dey 
didn'  neber  expec'  to  want  noffin'  more  in  dis  worl'. 
Spec  a  good  many  on  'em  won't.  Golly  !  dere'll  be  pick- 
in's  fer  somebody  dere,  I  reckon." 

With  a  sigh  for  the  unattainable  plunder,  ending  in  a 
chuckle  at  the  success  of  the  side  he  had  espoused  in  the 
quarrel,  Picter  came  slowly  down  out  of  the  chestnut 
tree,  and  again  mounted  in  front  of  Dora,  who  had  sat 
with  flushed  face  and  gleaming  eyes,  drinking  in  the 
somewhat  fragmentary  description  of  the  skirmish  to  be 
gathered  from  the  negro's  exclamations. 

"  O,  Picter,"  said  she,  breathlessly,  when  he  was 
again  beside  her,  "will  there  be  more  fighting?  will  there 
be  a  real  battle?  O,  Pic,  can't  you  take  me  somewhere 
to  see  it?" 

"Would  you  like  'o  see  it,  chile?  Wouldn'  ye  be 
scar't  nor  noffin'  ? "  eagerly  demanded  Pic,  who  was 
every  bit  as  anxious  to  see  the  fight  as  herself,  and  who 
was  glad  to  find  an  excuse  in  her  own  wishes  for  linger- 
ing with  the  little  girl  in  a  scene  of  possible  danger,  and 
certain  horror,  should  a  general  battle  ensue. 

"  Scar't !  no  indeed  !  "  cried  Dora.  "  Do  make  haste, 
and  get  somewhere  where  we  can  see  the  whole." 

"  Lors,  honey,  who'd  tink  of  a  pooty  leetly  gal  wantiu' 
ter  see  a  big  fight,  wif  lots  o'  men  a  bleedin'  an'  a  dyin' 


118  DOHA  DABLIXG: 

all  'bout  her.  You'd  be  right  for  a  sojer's  wife,  missy, 
to  help  take  care  ob  de  pore  wounded  fellers  in  de  hos- 
pital." 

*'  And  so  I  will,"  cried  Dora,  with  enthusiasm.  "  I  am 
not  old  enough  to  be  a  soldier's  wife,  but  I  will  be  the 
sister  or  the  daughter  of  every  soldier  that  I  can  help. 
There  will  be  men  wounded  in  this  very  battle  —  won't 
there.  Pic?" 

"  Dere  will  dat,  missy." 

"  Well,  I  will  take  care  of  them.  You  will  see  how 
handy  I  can  be  with  sick  folks.  Mother  always  said  I 
was  a  born  nurse." 

"  Specs  you's  born  fer  eberyting  dat's  good  an'  com- 
for'ble,  honey,"  said  the  negro,,  turning  round  to  look 
lovingly  into  her  glowing  face. 

"  But  now  we  must  get  where  we  can  see  something, 
Pic.  Do  you  know  anj^hing  about  the  fight,  who  it  is, 
and  what  they  are  trying  to  do  ?  " 

"  Dey's  our  fellers  from  Cheat  Mountain,  ob  course," 
said  Picter,  confidently.  '.'  "Wedder  part  or  de  whole  I 
couldn'  say,  an'  I  specs  dey's  come  down  dis  mornin'  to 
clean  out  a  rebel  hole  dat  dey  calls  Camp  Bartow,  some- 
'eres  here  on  dis  Green  Brier  River.  I  was  talkin'  long 
wid  a  berry  'telligent  feller,  fer  a  nigger,  t'oder  day; 
he'd  been  scoutin'  roun'  here,  an'  he  know'd  all  'bout  it. 
But  our  gen'ral  couldn'  make  up  he  mind  to  trus'  a  nig- 
ger's story,  so  he  sent  de  lightes'  complected  feller  in  de 
brigade  to  see  if  Jonas  (dat's  de  nigger)  had  tole  right ; 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF   THE  REGIMENT.  119 

but  de  foxy  head  got  took,  or  shot  —  didn'  neber  come 
back,  any  way.  Den  anoder  feller,  a  doctor  dat  lives 
roun'  here,  up  an'  said  he^d  go  ;  but  he's  got  orful  tanned 
dis  summer  ridin'  a  hossback,  an'  I  don'  know  wedder 
de  gen'ral  took  him  or  not.  Specs  he'll  hab  to  sen'  to 
Richmon'  arter  some  creturs  dey  had  dere  makin'  a  show 
on  'em.  Dey  called  'em  Albinos,  an'  dey  was  jes'  as  white 
as  snow.     Dem's  de  fellers  to  spy  out  a  rebel  camp." 

"  Well,  and  did  this  Jonas  tell  you  where  Camp  Bar- 
tow is,  so  that  you  can  find  it?  "  asked  Dora,  eagerly. 

"Yis,  honey.  It's  on  de  side  ob  a  mountain  called 
Buffler  HiU." 

"Buffalo  Hill?  Why  there  aren't  any  buffaloes  about 
here." 

"  Might  'a  ben  once,  honey,  ef  dere  isu'  now.  Any 
ways,  dat's  what  dey  calls  it ;  an'  de  rebels  has  frowed  up 
fortifications,  an'  dug  trenches,  an'  mounted  big  guns 
dere,  'nough  to  kill  de  whole  Yankee  nation  if  dey  dares 
to  'tack  'em.     Least,  dat  what  dey  say." 

"  And  what  do  you  say,  Picter?" 

"I  says  de  rebels  is  biggest  at  sayin\  bud  de  Yankees 
is  de  fellers  fer  doin%"  said  Picter,  emphatically.  "  So 
now,  honey,  we'll  jes'  skirt  roun'  here  in  de  woods,  an' 
git  ober  dis  big  hill  afore  us,  an'  den,  if  I  rec'lect  de  lay 
ob  de  Ian',  we  shall  see  Bufiier  Hill  an'  de  whole  ob  de 
fun." 

*'  Make  haste,  then  ;    I  hear  guns  now  !  " 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

Keeping  carefully  concealed  among  the  trees  and 
brush  covering  the  irregular  surface  of  the  country,  Pic- 
ter  pushed  rapidly  forward  in  the  direction  taken  by  the 
rebels  in  their  flight  from  the  bridge.  A  few  scattering 
shots  occasionally  broke  the  calm  of  the  morning ;  but 
nothing  as  yet  indicated  a  general  engagement,  and  Pic 
began  to  have  misgivings  that  the  event  was  to  prove 
him  but  a  false  prophet,  and  that  the  battle  he  had  so 
pompously  announced  w^ould,  after  all,  turn  out  only  a 
skirmish. 

He  accordingly  attempted  to  save  himself  from  the 
ignominy  of  confessing  a  mistake,  by  an  operation  kno^vn 
in  naval  language  as  "  laying  an  anchor  to  the  wind- 
ward," and  upon  the  turf  as  "  hedging." 

"  De  gen'ral  wasn'  gwine  ter  make  much  ob  a  fight 
jes'  now,"  said  he,  carelessly.  "  All  we  wants  is  ter 
look  roun'  a  leetly  mite,  an'  see  how  de  rebs  is  fixed. 
Fac',  I  don'  know  as  dere'll  be  much  fightin'  'bout  it  any 
way.  Shouldn'  wonder  if  we  drawed  off,  now  we'm 
made  um  run,  an'  come  back  'noder  day  to  finish  wid 
um." 

(120) 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIME  XT.  121 

"  That's  too  bad,"  said  Dora,  quite  disappointed.  "  I 
thought  you  said  they  were  going  to  clear  out  Camp 
Bartow,  Picter.     That  would  be  a  fight." 

"  An'  so  we  am,  chile  ;  we'm  gwine  ter  cl'ar  it  out  as 
clean  as  yore  lilly  han',  bud  wedder  we  do  it  to-day  or 
to-morrer  I  couldn'  say.  It  wasn'  quite  decided  w'en  I 
corned  away.  Dis  yer  is  w'at  we  calls  a  armed  re- 
connoissance,  dis  is,"  replied  Pic,  his  complacency  fully 
restored  by  the  sonorous  military  phrase  he  had  so  fortu- 
nately recollected. 

"  O,"  said  Dora,  a  little  dubiously,  "  is  it?" 

"  Yes,  chile.  You'll  know  all  'bout  dese  yer  'fairs  one 
dese  days,  ef  we  stops  in  camp.  You  can't  'xpect  ter  all 
ter  once,  dough.  It  took  me  some  time  myse'f  fore  I 
made  it  all  out." 

"  There  !  Here  we  are  at  the  top  of  the  hill,"  cried 
Dora,  joyfully.  "  But  we  can't  see  anything  for  the 
trees.  You  must  lead  the  horse  down  to  the  edge  of  the 
wood,  Picter.  The  hill  will  be  cleared  part  way  up." 
.  "  I  reckon  so,  missy ;  dey  mos'ly  is.  Golly  !  if  dis 
chile  had  got  a  farm  roun'  here,  de  fus'  ting  he'd  do  'ould 
be  ter  git  a  big  rollin'  pin  an'  roll  it  out  flat.  It's  all  ups 
an'  downs  now,  like  de  top  ob  a  huckleberry  pie.  vSpecs, 
dough  I's  made  ter  walk  roun'  dese  oneven  places,  same 
as  de  kangaroos  mist's  tole  'bout  one  day.  Dey's  got 
two  short  leg  an'  two  long  leg,  an'  so's  I." 

*'  You  haven't  four  legs,  Pic,"  laughed  Dora. 
11 


122  DORA  DARLING: 

"  Well,  missy,  two  on  'em's  arms,  to  be  sure  ;  but  den 
it's  pooty  mucli'e  same  ting.  Now,  den,  de  trees  am 
gittin'  thin.  Don'  yer  see  de  cl'arin'  down  b'low  ?  We'm 
can't  go  much  furder.  It's  a  massy  dat  Jump  an'  I  is 
brack,  an'  you  face,  honey,  dough  it's  w'ite  'nough,  is  so 
leetly,  dat  ef  dey  sees  us  dey'll  tink  it's  on'y  a  white  posy 
growin'  up  here." 

"  But  this  white  blanket,  Picter,  I'll  take  it  off  and 
roll  it  up." 

"  "Will  you  be  warm  'nough,  missy,  widout  it?  " 

"  O,  yes.  I  am  too  warm  now.  Then,  my  gray  dress 
won't  show  at  all,  and  you  can  strap  the  blanket  behind 
the  saddle  here  for  me  to  sit  on." 

"  Golly !  What  a  lian'  you  is  fer  plannin',  missy ! 
Jes'  as  smart  an'  quick's  a  steel  trap.  Specs  de  gen'ral'll 
hab  you  up  to  help  'em  in  de  council.  Take  keer  you 
don'  git  sunburned,  dough,  else  all  yore  smartness  won't 
be  no  'count." 

They  had  by  this  time  reached  the  limit  of  the  forest 
covering  the  crest  of  the  high  hill  they  had  just  crossed. 
The  land,  for  about  half  the  height  on  the  side  they 
had  now  gained,  was  cleared  for  cultivation,  and  Picter 
carefully  concealed  the  horse,  with  Dora  still  upon  his 
back,  in  a  dense  clump  of  young  oaks  and  chestnuts  that 
encroached  a  little  upon  the  field  below.  Through  their 
foliage,  thinned  by  early  frosts,  she  could  obtain  an  un- 
obstructed view  of  the  scene  in  the  valley. 


THE  DAUGHTEE   OF  THE  EEOIMENT.  123 

For  his  own  part,  Picter,  after  tying  the  horse  securely, 
climbed  into  the  top  of  an  enormous  white  pine,  just 
upon  the  edge  of-  the  forest,  and  crouched  there  like  a 
remarkably  large  specimen  of  the  ravens,  that  are  poet- 
ically alleged  to  attend  battle-fields. 

"  There,  missy,"  said  he,  cautiously,  when  finally  set- 
tled to  his  mind,  "  now  we'm  as  comf'able  as  de  big 
bugs  in  de  show  boxes  at  de  Richmon'  play-house,  an' 
all  de  fun  dere  is  to  be  seed  we'll  see,  widout  eber 
stirrin'  a  foot ;  fer  dat's  Buflier  Hill  right  acrost  de  val- 
ley, an'  all  dem  shiny  w'ite  spots  is  tents,  an'  dem  lines 
ob  light-colored  dirt  is  umbankments,  wid  cannon  atop 
ob  'em,  an'  dem  critters  dat's  swarmin'  in  an'  out  an'  all 
roun',  same  as  de  black  ants  does  w'en  a  boy  sticks  a 
'ole  in  de  hill,  is  rebels.  Hullo  !  see  dem  fellers  trottin' 
up  de  hill  an'  goin'  in?  Dey's  de  ones  we  jes'  druv 
away  from  de  bridge,  I  reclion.  Wonder  if  de  leetly 
feller  dat  was  so  perlite  to  us  is  dere." 

"  O,  Picter  !  Isn't  it  a  splendid  sight ! "  exclaimed 
Dora,  clasping  her  little  hands,  while  her  face  turned 
pale,  and  her  luminous  eyes  flashed  with  excitement. 

It  was  indeed  a  glorious  picture.  At  their  feet  lay  a 
broad  valley,  its  surface  broken  with  hillocks  and  wooded 
knolls,  with  patches  of  cultivated  land  at  intervals,  re- 
lieved by  broad  tracts  of  forest. 

Curving  in  and  out,  among  these  woods  and  hills,  the 
clear  waters  of  the  Green  Brier  sparkled  and  glittered  in 


124  DORA  DARLING: 

the  morning  sunshine,  like  the  blade  of  King  Arthur's 
sword  Excalibur,  -when  it  flashed  from  the  hand  of  the 
good  knight  Bedivere,  to  sink  forever  in  the  lake. 

Beyond  the  valley  rose  abruptly  high  hills,  steep  ac- 
clivities, that  should  have  been  mountains,  had  not  the 
gray  peaks  of  the  Alleghanies  risen  grandly  above  and 
beyond  them,  frowning  down  in  stern  sterility  upon  their 
softly-rounded  summits.  Far  away,  where  a  cone-like 
crest  cut  sharply  upon  the  clear  blue  of  heaven,  a  shining 
thread  of  light  wound  down  the  mountain  side,  as  if  the 
parched  granite  had  cracked  in  a  long,  zigzag  seam, 
and  the  eternal  fires  within  gleamed  through.  It  was 
the  stream  of  the  waterfall  and  the  cave,  transformed  by 
the  sunshine  to  a  stream  of  glancing  light. 

Near  at  hand,  in  fact  little  more  than  half  a  mile  dis- 
tant, as  the  crow  flies,  rose  the  steep  eminence  known  as 
Buflfalo  Hill.  As  Picter  iiad  faithfully  repeated  from  the 
narration  of  his  friend,  the  scout,  this  hill-side  camp  had 
been  carefully  fortified  by  the  rebels  with  terraced  bat- 
teries, rifle-pits,  and  embankments. 

The  defences,  beginning  near  the  foot  of  the  hill,  ex- 
tended quite  up  to  the  summit,  which  was  crowned  with 
heavy  woodland. 

Through  the  valley,  close  by  the  base  of  Buffalo  Hill, 
and  up  into  the  mountains  beyond,  ran  a  road  known  as 
the  Staunton  turnpike. 

Following  this   line  of  road,  some  half  mile  to   the 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  125 

right  of  the  position  chosen  by  Picter,  Dora's  eyes  fell 
upon  a  dark,  motionless  mass  lying  near  the  highway, 
and  surmounted  by  innumerable  little  glancing  points. 
A  close  inspection  satisfied  her  that  this  was  a  body  of 
soldiers,  with  the  sunshine  flashing  from  their  bayonets. 

She  pointed  them  out  to  Picter. 

'•  Yes,  chile,  I  sees  'em  ;  dere'll  be  a  fight,  a'rter  all. 
But,  Lord  sabe  us,  what's  dat?" 

"Where,  Picter?" 

"  Down  here,  jes'  a  leetle  dis  side  ob  dem  fellers. 
Don'  you  see,  all  dese  figgers  squattin'  down  'hind  de 
fence  and  de  brush,  and  den  ober  dis  side  de  road, 
'mongst  de  trees  on  dat  leetly  hill?  Dey's  hidin',  dat's 
cl'ar,  an'  dey'  waitin'  fer  dem  oder  fellers." 

"  And  they  must  be  rebels,  because  they're  between 
the  rebel  camp  and  those  other  soldiers." 

"  Yes,  yes,  so  dey  is,  chile.  Well,  I  reckon  you's  got 
de  right  pig  by  de  ear  now.  Dey's  rebels,  an'  dey's 
ambushed  dere,  to  wait  for  our  sojers  dat's  stan'in'  still 
up  dere.     Wy  don't  dey  come  'long,  I  wonder." 

"  See  !     There's  some  more." 

As  Dora  spoke,  a  small  body  of  horsemen  appeared  at 
the  head  of  the  valley,  riding  rapidly  towards  the  sta- 
tionary troops,  their  plumes  waving  and  accoutrements 
flashing  in  the  sun. 

"  Dat's  de  gen'l  wid  his  staff  an'  escort  ob  cabalry," 
cried  Picter,  eagerly.  "  Golly  !  if  dem  rebels  makes  out 
11* 


126  DORA  DARLING: 

to  cotcli  him,  de  fat's  all  in  de  fire,  au'  de  skillet  cracked. 
Wow  !     He'll  ride  right  in  amongst  'em." 

"  No  ;  he's  turning  off.  He's  going  over  to  the  troops 
that  have  been  waiting  there.  I  guess  thej  were  wait- 
ing for  him." 

"  Waitin'  fer  orders.  Yis,  ob  course  dej  was.  I 
could  ha'  tole  you  dat,  chile,"  said  Picter,  jealously. 

"  Yes,  see,"  continued  Dora,  breathlessly.  "  He  points 
forward  with  his  sword  ;  I  can  see  the  sun  glance  along 
the  blade  ;  he  means  that  they  are  to  go.  There,  see, 
they  are  starting  !  Not  all,  though  ;  it's  only  a  small 
part,  and  they  are  spreading  all  out." 

"  Dey  calls  dat  deployin',"  interposed  Pic. 

"  They  move  very  carefully,  and  carry  their  bayonets 
out  in  front,  as  if —  There,  see,  see,  Picter]  they  have 
come  right  upon  that  clump  of  trees,  where  the  rebels 
are  hiding  thickest.  O,  see  the  guns  flash  !  Hear  the 
shots  !  They  are  running  back  a  little  !  Now,  see, 
they  stop  behind  that  wall !     The  rebels  don't  follow." 

"  Reckon  dey  don't.  'Ould  you  follow  a  hornet  inter 
his  nes'?  Now  den,  look  a'  dah.  De  gen'l  an'  de  oder 
ossifers  runnin'  roun'  like  mad,  an'  de  sojers  steppin'  out 
—  dey's  all  gwine  now — de  hull  bilin'  on 'em.  Guess 
urn  rebs  '11  hab  to  cl'ar  out  o'  dat,  'bout  de  quickest. 
High  O,  Jack  !  Dat's  de  way  !  Hooray  for  de  Union 
an'  de  Hoosier  boys  !  " 

The  cause  of  this  last  exclamation  was  a  grand  rush 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  127 

of  the  whole  regiment,  so  intently  watched  by  Picter  and 
Dora,  in  the  direction  of  the  ambushed  enemy.  The 
company  deployed  as  skirmishers  had,  on  discovering  the 
enemy,  — nearly  a  thousand  strong,  —  given  him  a  volley, 
and  then,  falling  back,  had  waited  for  the  support  of  their 
comrades.  This  had  been  given  upon  the  instant,  and 
the  whole  regiment,  dashing  forward  with  loud  cheers 
and  flaunting  colors,  charged  so  impetuously  upon  their 
opponents,  that  the  rebels,  hardly  pausing  to  return  the 
first  volley,  broke  and  fled,  hotly  pursued  by  the  excited 
victors. 

One  large  body  rushed  across  the  valley  in  the  direc- 
tion of  their  camp,  followed  by  a  part  of  the  federals, 
from  whose  waving  lines  flashed  continually  the  blaze 
of  the  muskets,  loaded  as  they  ran ;  and  at  every  flash 
fell  a  dead  or  wounded  foeman. 

The  remainder  of  the  rebels,  consisting  principally  of 
those  who  had  been  concealed  among  the  timber  to  the 
left  of  the  road,  fled  precipitately  up  the  mountains, 
stanchly  followed  by  the  Union  men,  firing  incessantly 
in  spite  of  the  difficulties  of  the  ground,  or,  when  so  for- 
tunate as  to  overtake  the  fugitives,  engaging  in  breathless 
hand-to-hand  conflicts,  as  terrible  as  they  were  brief. 

In  the  valley  calmly  sat  the  general  and  his  staff, 
pennon  and  plumes  softly  waving  in  the  golden  autumn 
air,  their  horses  prancing  and  pawing  with  excitement, 
trappings  and  accoutrements  flashing  again  to  the  dancing 


128  DORA   DARLIXG: 

sunbeams.  It  was  the  fair  outside  of  the  battle  picture, 
whose  grim  reverse  was  to  be  found  among  those  bloody 
thickets  on  the  mountain  side,  and  in  the  laurel  swamp 
across  the  valley,  where  the  right  wing  of  the  rebels  was 
overtaken,  and  received  a  withering  volley  from  their 
pursuers,  who  then  slowly  retired  to  their  post. 

The  other  companies  were  also  recalled  from  the  hills, 
which  they  had  entirely  cleared  of  the  rebels,  who  were 
by  this  time  saffely  sheltered  in  their  intrenchments,  ex- 
cept the  prisoners,  some  few  Avounded,  who  were  pres- 
ently to  be  cared  for  by  the  victors,  and  the  many  who 
lay  stififening  in  their  blood,  with  wide,  ghastly  eyes 
frozen  in  their  last  look  of  pain  and  horror. 

A  battery  of  flying  artillery  now  dashed  down  the 
road,  past  the  hill  where  Picter  and  Dora  had  taken  post, 
and,  pausing  directly  in  the  enemy's  front,  unlimbered 
its  guns  and  opened  fire.  At  the  same  time  the  regiment 
which  had  cleared  the  road  for  it,  and  which  was  now 
recognized  by  Picter  as  the  Indiana  Fourteenth,  moved 
rapidly  forward,  and  took  post  upon  the  hill-side  in  its 
rear.  Another  battery  occupied  a  point  near  the  ambush 
whence  the  rebels  had  been  driven,  and  a  single  gun, 
commanded  by  the  gallant  Daum  in  person,  rattled  defi- 
antly up  to  a  position  on  the  left  of  the  Indiana  men,  and 
boldly  opened  fire. 

__The  rebels,  although  they  had  retreated  so  nimbly  in 
the  field,  were   brave   within    their    intrenchments,  and 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF   THE  REGIMENT.  129 

vigorously  returned  the  fire  of  the  federal  artillery  from 
their  loAver  line  of  batteries,  where  Avere  mounted  seven 
guns.  These,  however,  were  badly  served,  and  wildly 
aimed.  Most  of  the  first  shot  fell  short  of  the  mark, 
and  many  others  were  fired  above  it. 

The  roar  of  artillery  now  became  continuous,  as  the 
batteries  of  the  Union  force  loaded  and  fired  without 
pause,  and  often  six  or  eight  of  the  reports  were  simulta- 
neous. The  rebels,  on  their  side,  kept  up  nearly  an  equal 
fire,  and,  in  noise  at  least,  their  execution  was  equal  to 
that  of  their  opponents. 

Across  the  valley  rolled  the  heavy  volumes  of  smoke, 
swept  before  a  light  breeze,  and  from  the  mountain  sides 
echoed  and  reechoed,  in  grand  reiteration,  the  thunder  of 
the  cannon,  while  the  earth  trembled  beneath  the  heavy 
reverberation. 

Suddenly  from  the  mountain  camp  rose  one,  two,  three 
rockets,  in  quick  succession,  sweeping  up  into  the  clear 
sky,  exploding,  and  fading  away,  unheard  and  almost 
unnoticed  in  the  wild  tumult  of  the  battle. 

"Now,  now,  gen'l,  do  you  see  dat  ar'?"  muttered 
Picter,  uneasily.  "  Dat  means  somefin',  shore.  Dey 
doesn't  feel  like  lettin'  off  fire-crackers  fer  fun,  up  dah, 
I'll  bet  a  cent.  Like  as  not  dere's  more  on  'em  comin', 
an'  dem  rockets  means,  '  Hurry  up  you  cakes  ! '  Gosh  ! 
Reckon  de  ole  man  didn'  see  it,  or  he  wouldn'  set  so  easy 
in  him  saddle." 


130  DORA  DARLING. 

But  the  general  did  see  and  understand  the  signal, 
almost  as  clearly  as  Picter  himself,  and  in  a  few  moments 
long  lines  of  infantry  were  to  be  seen  glancing  in  and  out 
among  the  hill-side  trees,  as  they  deployed  left  and  right, 
far  upon  either  Aving,  to  guard  the  Union  batteries  from 
a  flank  movement  of  the  enemy,  or  his  expected  re- 
enforcements. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

Meantime  most  of  the  rebels'  guns  had  been  either 
dismounted  or  silenced ;  but  one  piece  continued  to  fire, 
and,  having  at  last  got  the  range,  began  to  do  some  exe- 
cution, taking  off  with  one  of  its  balls  the  arm  of  an 
artillery  man,  and  with  the  next  killing  outright  a  gunner 
of  the  same  corps. 

At  this  sight,  a  young  fellow  attached  to  Daum's  gun, 
who  had  never  before  been  under  fire,  became  panic- 
stricken,  and  turned  to  fly  ;  but  the  choleric  captain  pur- 
sued, overtook,  and  stopped  him,  and,  in  spite  of  the  poor 
boy's  piteous  cries,  and  protestations  that  he  should 
certainly  b6  killed  with  the  next  shot,  drove  him  relent- 
lessly back  to  his  gun  with  a  shower  of  blows  from  the 
flat  of  his  sword,  and  a  storm  of  reproaches  and  oppro- 
brium as  the  reward  of  his  cowardice. 

"  Golly  ! "  remarked  Picter  from  his  tree,  whence  he 
had  watched  this  little  incident  with  great  attention. 
"  Dey  say, '  Honesty  de  bes'  policy  ; '  but,  for  my  part,  I 
tink  courage  de  bes'  policy  fer  us  sojers.  Might  as  well 
Stan'  you  chance  o'  bein'  shot  as  to  be  licked  to  def  wid 
a  sword,  an'  den  be  called  coward  all  de  res'  you  life." 

(131) 


132  DOBA   DARLIXG: 

"  Look,  look,  Picter ! "  said  Dora,  in  a  low,  excited 
voice. 

"Look  whar',  honey?" 

"  On  the  road  coming  down  from  the  mountains,  there 
behind  the  rebel  camp.  The  others  are  coming.  That 
is  what  the  rockets  meant !  " 

"  Lor'  'a'  massy,  so  dey  be  !  How  dey  comes  peltin' 
down  de  hill !  an'  see  de  cannon  a  shinin',  an'  de  horses 
a  galloppin'  !  Dere  be  four,  five,  rijiments,  for  sart'in. 
Hark !  Hear  de  ole  fools  a  hootin'  and  singin'  out 
'hin'  dere  mud-banks  !  Tinks  dey's  got  us  now,  shore. 
Dat  shows  how  scar't  dey  was,  any  way.  Reckon  dey'd 
better  wait  now,  till  dey's  out  o'  de  woods,  'fore  dey 
begins  ter  holler  dat-a-way.  Eeckon  dey'll  fin'  dey's 
got  more  dan  dere  match,  if  dey  has  got  'forcements. 
So's  we  got  'forcements,  an'  plenty  ob  'em  too,  if  we  was 
a  min'  to  fotch  'em  up.  'Tain't  our  way,  dough,  to  turn 
up  all  ban's  to  drive  a  leetly  yaller  dog  out  de  door-yard, 
even  if  he  has  got  a  bull-pup  to  help  him.  Holler  away 
—  won't  ye  ?  " 

Thus  grumbled  Epictetus,  forgetting,  in  his  alarm  and 
ano-er  at  the  sight  of  powerful  reenforcements  to  the 
cnemv,  the  calm  dignity  befitting  a  namesake  of  the  old 
Greek  philosopher  and  moralist. 

But  liis  sneers  and  boasts  met  with  no  response,  for 
Dora,  his  only  possible  auditor,  was  absorbed  in  watch- 
ing the  glittering  line  of  bayonets  descending  the  moun- 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE  REGIMENT.  133 

tain  road,  and  filing  into  tlie  intrenchments  of  the  rebel 
camp,  where  they  were  received  with  vociferous  cheers 
of  welcome,  ringing  loud  and  clear  above  the  sterner 
sounds  of  battle. 

The  new  pieces  were  quickly  placed  in  position  upon 
the  upper  line  of  fortifications,  and  opened  fire  amid  re- 
newed cheers  upon  the  part  of  the  besieged.  These, 
however,  were  of  short  duration,  for  the  federal  batteries 
reopened,  after  their  brief  rest,  with  renewed  energy,  and 
soon  proved  that  both  their  guns  and  their  practice  were 
better  than  those  of  their  enemy. 

"What  for  de  fools  want  ter  aim  so  high?  Dere 
ain't  noffin'  to  shoot  up  here  'cept  we,"  muttered  Picter, 
uneasily,  as  a  round  shot  fell  into  the  field  a  few  hundred 
yards  below  his  position. 

The  next  moment  a  shell,  rising  in  a  bold  curve  from 
the  new  battery,  swept  across  the  sky  with  a  shrill  scream 
to  be  remembered  but  not  described,  and  finally  swooped 
down,  like  some  horrible  bird  of  prey,  upon  the  little 
grove  where  Dora  was  concealed. 

"  O  !  O  !  De  Lord  in  heben  sabe  us  !  O,  missy  !  O, 
de  Lord  !  "  yelled  Picter,  clinging  to  his  own  tree,  while, 
with  blanched  face  and  starting  eyeballs,  he  watched  the 
iron  death  that  now  lay  directly  behind  Jump's  hind  feet, 
its  smoking  fuse  threatening  instant  destruction  to  the 
w^hole  party. 

Dora,  without  speaking,  slipped  fi-om  her  saddle.  "  It's 
12 


134  DORA  DARLING: 

a  shell — isn't  it?  Is  it  that  fire  in  the  string  that  blows  it 
up?"  asked  she,  hurriedly. 

"  Yis,  yis  ;  it'll  go  in  a  secon' !  Run,  missy,  run  fer 
de  woods  !  "  gasped  Picter,  beginning  to  come  down  the 
pine  tree  as  fast  as  his  limbs,  paralyzed  by  fear,  would 
permit. 

Before  he  could  reach  the  ground,  however,  Dora  had 
seized  the  smouldering  end  of  the  fuse  in  the  skirt  of  her 
woollen  dress,  and  held  it  firmly  compressed  in  her  hand, 
as  she  knelt  beside  the  shell,  with  pallid  face  and  eyes 
dilated  with  excitement. 

"  O,  de  Lord!  O,  honey,  chile  I  You  leetly  fool! 
You  bressed  leetly  angel !  "  stammered  Picter,  quite  un- 
conscious of  what  he  said,  as  he  staggered  back  against 
the  bole  of  the  pine  tree. 

"  It's  out,"  said  Dora,  quietly,  as  she  unclasped  her 
hand,  and  pointed  to  the  black  end  of  the  fuse,  charred 
down  to  the  very  surface  of  the  shell. 

"  0  !  0  !  O  !  missy  !  "  gasped  Picter  again,  as  he  sank 
upon  the  ground,  and,  hiding  his  face  in  his  folded  arm, 
began  to  cry  lustily. 

Dora  looked  at  him  a  moment,  then  looked  at  the 
shell,  but  said  never  a  word.  It  was  only  by  her  marble 
face  and  shining  eyes  that  one  could  have  guessed  how 
much  was  stirring  within  that  little  heart.  "When  she 
did  speak,  it  was  very  quietly. 

"  Perhaps  we'd  better  go  away  from  here,  Pic.     They 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  135 

seem  to  be  firing  at  the  battery  just  below  us,  and  all  the 
balls  go  over  it.  There  is  another  falling  in  the  field 
just  down  here." 

"  Go  'way  from  dis,  says  you ! "  exclaimed  Pieter, 
almost  angry  at  the  child's  coolness.  "  Course  we  will, 
'thout  we's  ready  to  be  blowed  inter  kin'dom  come  'thout 
stoppin'  fer  make  our  wills.  Should  ha'  been  dere  now 
if  dat  'ere  fuss  had  been  de  proper  len'f.  Reckon  de 
shells  we's  frowin'  up  dere  can't  be  pinched  out  like  um 
candle  snuff." 

While  speaking,  Pieter  had  hastily  loosed  Jump's 
bridle  from  the  sapling  where  it  had  been  tied,  and  re- 
placed Dora  upon  his  back. 

He  now  led  him  up  into  the  woods,  and  as  quickly  as 
possible  placed  the  brow  of  the  hill  between  himself  and 
the  enemy.  So  soon  as  they  were  in  safety,  however, 
the  negro  paused,  and  seemed  to  consider. 

"  Dey  came  from  dat-a-way,"  muttered  he,  pointing  in 
a  northerly  direction.  "  An'  by  keepin'  roun'  dat  way 
we  shall  fall  in  wid  some  ob  'em  gwine  back.  I  reckon 
de  fight's  'bout  played  out,  an'  'tain't  wuff  w'ile  to  try  fer 
see  any  more  dis  time." 

"  Let  us  get  round  where  the  wounded  men  have  been 
carried,  Uncle  Pic,"  said  Dora,  decidedly.  "  I  want  to 
see  if  I  can't  do  something  for  them." 

"  "Well,  honey,  de  amberlances '11  be  in  de  rear,  an'  I 
'epect  dat  we  shall  get  at  dat  by  keepin'  right  'long  dis 


136  DORA  DARLIXG: 

way.  1  daresn'  go  down  in  de  road  fer  fear  of  meetin' 
some  ob  de  rebels  skulkin'  rouu'  de  back  way  to  dey 
camp.  Dey'd  be  sure  to  shoot  a  nigger  dat  didn'  b'long 
to  deyse'fs,  ef  dey  should  meet  nim  now,  dey's  so  mad." 

"  Then  keep  along  here  in  the  woods,  but  do  make 
haste,"  said  Dora,  impatiently.  "  O,  Picter,  I  never 
shall  forget,  when  our  guns  left  off  firing  that  time,  just 
before  the  other  rebels  came  up,  how  the  horrid  groans 
and  screams  of  the  wounded  men  over  in  their  trenches 
seemed  to  fill  the  whole  air." 

"  Yis,  missy,  I  hear  um,"  replied  Pic,  with  an  anima- 
tion that  was  not  wholly  horror.  "  Golly  !  I  reckon  we 
gib  some  on  'em  fits." 

"  But,  Pic,  do  they  have  doctors,  and  nurses,  and  com- 
fortable beds  over  there?"  asked  Dora,  piteously. 

"  Reckon  so,  missy ;  bud  I  'xpect  mos'  o'  de  fellers 
dat  got  hit  with  de  sugar-plums  we  frowed  'em  to-day, 
won't  neber  want  no  doctor.  TVe  doesn'  fire  shells  wid 
tails  as  long  as  de  pussy-cat's." 

"  But  those  that  groaned  so  horribly  were  only  wound- 
ed, not  dead,"  persisted  Dora. 

"  Good  for  um  lay  an'  groan  a  leetly  while,  an'  'fleet 
on  dey  sins,  'fore  dey  die.  Like  ter  fill  dem  trenches 
right  in  Avid  quick-lime,  an'  finish  'em  off,"  said  Picter, 
with  a  curious  mingling  of  recklessness  and  ferocity  in 
his  tone. 

"  Picter,  I  don't  like  to  have  you  talk  that  way,"  said 


THE   DAUGHTER    OF  THE  REGIMENT.  137 

Dora,  seriously,  as  she  fixed  one  of  her  steady  glances  on 
his  face. 

"  'Xcuse  me,  missy,"  said  the  negro,  his  glowing  eyes 
falling  before  hers.  "  I  know  dat  ain't  de  way  dey  talks 
in  de  Bible  ;  bud  you  knows,  missy,  we  niggers  doesn' 
hab  de  buckra  ways  'bout  some  ifings.  Now  you  washes 
you  face  in  de  mornin',  an'  forgib  you  enemy  ebery  day  ; 
but  my  fader  come  from  Afriky,  an'  use  to  go  fight  an' 
kill  he  enemy  ebery  chance  he  git,  an'  den  eat  'em  up." 

"  Eat  them  up  !  "  echoed  Dora,  in  horror. 

"  Sart'in,  missy.  Dat  de  way  he  eddicate  ;  an'  I 
don'  s'pose  he  wash  his  face  hardly  neber,  'cause  dey 
didn'  hab  no  water  where  he  lib.  So  you  see,  missy, 
we  diff'ent." 

'*  But,  Picter,  your  father  died  when  you  were  a  little 
boy,  and  you  have  always  been  taught  just  as  I  have. 
You  are  a  Christian,  you  know.  Pic,  and  your  father 
wasn't." 

"  Yis,  missy ;  bud  I's  de  son  ob  my  own  daddy  fer  all 
dat.  De  Bible  says  dat  de  wil'-cat  can't  change  he  fur, 
nor  de  nigger  wash  hese'f  w'ite." 

"  Well,  never  mind,"  said  Dora,  after  a  few  minutes 
of  puzzled  thought,  "  whether  you  are  just  like  me  or  not ; 
you're  a  dear,  kind  old  uncle,  and  never  was  cross  or 
ugly  to  me,  or  any  one  else,  that  I  know  of;  so  it  don't 
make  so  much  difference  what  you  say." 

"  Dat's  it,  missy.  It's  de  doin',  an'  not  de  sayin',  dat's 
12  * 


138  DORA  DARLIXG: 

de  mos'  importance,  mist's  use  to  say ;  an'  w'en  I  talks 
de  way  you  doesn'  like,  honey,  you  mus'  'fleet  dat  it's 
on'y  de  ole  nigger  daddy  dat's  talkin',  an'  dat  it'll  be 
Uncle  Pic  dat'U  do  de  doin'." 

Dora  laughed,  and  perfect  harmony  was  once  more 
restored  between  the  two. 

For  nearly  an  hour  Picter  pursued  the  course  he  had 
adopted,  as  likely  to  bring  him  to  the  rear  of  the  federal 
army,  keeping  all  the  time  within  the  shelter  of  the 
woods,  and  below  the  crest  of  the  hills. 

He  now,  however,  judged  it  time  to  keep  up  a  little 
so  as  to  intersect  the  high  road,  along  which  it  was  prob- 
able the  troops  would  make  their  line  of  march  in  return- 
ing to  their  encampment. 

Striking  a  ravine  between  two  of  the  hills  dividing  the 
valley  from  their  own  position,  the  negro  cautiously  fol- 
lowed it  up,  until,  nearing  the  edge  of  the  woodland,  he 
hitched  the  bridle  to  a  tree,  and  went  forward  to  recon- 
noitre. 

In  a  few  moments  he  returned  with  far  less  precaution. 

"  All  right,  missy,"  said  he,  gleefully.  "  TTe'm  hit 
jes'  on  de  right  spot.  Here's  de  amberlances  an'  de 
surgeons,  an'  de  Twenty  —  Ohier  ;  dat's  our  own  riji- 
mint,  you  'member,  all  in  a  heap.  De  res'  ob  de  army 
is  marchin'  ahead,  an'  we'm  waitin'  ter  fotch  up  de  rear, 
I  reckon,  from  de  looks.  Come,  ole  boss,  step  'long  — 
will  ye?" 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  139 

In  a  few  moments  Dora  found  herself  upon  the  edge 
of  the  wood,  and  only  a  few  hundred  feet  from  a  line 
of  ambulances  already  nearly  filled  with  wounded  men, 
whose  groans  attested  the  severity  of  their  sufferings. 

A  surgeon  and  his  assistant,  distinguished  by  their 
green  sashes,  stood  close  at  hand,  their  faces  pale,  their 
hands  stained  with  blood.  Their  work  had  been  severe, 
for  wounded  rebels  had  shared  equally  with  federal  sol- 
diers in  their  care  and  attention. 

A  party  of  men  carrying  stretchers  were  slowly  mov- 
ing up  the  valley.  Beyond  them  stood  the  Ohio  regi- 
ment, to  which  Picter  considered  himself  attached,  drawn 
up  in  a  solid  phalanx,  ready  to  close  the  rear  of  the  re- 
treating army,  when  the  hospital  train  should  be  prepared 
to  precede  them. 

Several  officers  were  standing  around  the  surgeon, 
talking  with  him  and  each  other,  and  in  the  shade  of 
the  trees  sat  or  lay  men  slightly  wounded,  or  suffering 
from  heat  and  exhaustion. 

Picter,  after  a  slight  pause,  walked  boldly  up  to  the 
group  of  officers,  still  leading  Jump  with  Dora  upon  his 
back. 

"  Hullo  !  What  have  we  here?  "  cried  a  young  cap- 
tain, who  had  just  asked  for  a  strip  of  sticking-plaster  to 
apply  to  a  slight  bayonet  scratch  upon  his  beardless 
cheek. 

"  Here's   our   prince   of  sable   cooks    and    strategists, 


140  DOEA  DABLIXG: 

• 

come  back  with  some  sort  of  mountain  elf  to  bear  him 
company.     AVho  is  it,  Picter?  " 

"  Sarvent,  Cap'n  BrufF,"  said  Picter,  passing  him  with 
a  military  salute,  and  keeping  on  towards  the  surgeon. 

"  Well,  Picter,"  said  that  gentleman,  carelessly, 
"where  did  you  drop  from?" 

"  I's  been  off  wid  a  furlough,  doctor,"  said  the  negro, 
modestly.  "  An'  dis  yer  young  lady  is  my  leetly  mist's, 
an'  she'm  gwine  to  de  Xorf  by  an'  by,  long  wid  us,  an' 
I'd  like  'o  keep  her  wid  me  in  camp  till  we  goes.  She 
jes'  wild  now,  to  come  an'  help  you  take  care  dese  yere 
pore  fellers.     Made  me  fotch  her  straight  ter  you." 

"  Ah  ! "  said  the  surgeon,  benevolently,  as  he  glanced 
again  at  Dora,  and  smiled.  "  So  you'd  like  to  be  an 
army  nurse,  my  dear,  would  you?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Dora,  meeting  his  eyes  in  an  una- 
bashed, earnest  manner,  that  made  the  kindly  surgeon 
smile  again. 

"  Well,  you  look  like  a  brave  litfle  girl,  who  would 
do  all  she  was  able.     But  it's  rough  work  this." 

"  May  I  help  you  now?  "  asked  Dora,  eagerly,  as  she 
slipped  down  from  Jump's  back,  and  went  close  up  to  her 
new  friend. 

"  What  is  your  name,  child?  " 

"  Dora,  sir.     Dora  Darley." 

"  And  how  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  Twelve,  sir." 


TUE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE  REGIME  XT.  141 

The  surgeon  -would  evidently  have  asked  more  ques- 
tions, but  the  party  of  men  detailed  to  bring  in  the 
wounded  and  dead  now  came  up,  and  his  attention  was 
immediately  absorbed  in  his  fresh  cares. 

Before  turning  away,  however,  he  said,  hurriedly, 
"  Dora,  if  you  like  to,  you  may  fill  this  canteen  from 
the  brook  down  there,  and  carry  water  to  the  wounded 
men  in  those  ambulances.  They  are  always  thirsty, 
poor  fellows." 

Dora  eagerly  hastened  to  do  as  she  was  bid,  and  with 
some  help  from  Picter,  soon  supplied  the  occupants  of 
the  ambulances  with  all  the  water  they  chose  to  drink. 
Murmured  thanks  and  blessings  repaid  the  kindness. 

Dora  then  approached  the  exhausted  groups  beneath 
the  trees. 

"  Will  you  have  some  water?  "  asked  she,  gently,  of  a 
grizzled  veteran,  suffering  from  a  blow  on  the  head, 
given  by  the  breech  of  a  dying  rebel's  musket. 

"  Ah,  thin,  an'  it's  one  of  the  '  good  people '  has 
started  up  out  o'  these  woods  —  isn't  it  ?  "  murmured  the 
Irishman,  opening  his  aching  eyes. 

"Ye  ould  fool,"  retorted  a  comrade,  who  had  just 
thrown  himself  upon  the  grass  to  rest  for  a  few  moments, 
"  there  ain't  none  o'  them  kind  in  'Meriky.  They  all 
stay  to  home  in  the  owld  country,  like  sensible  little  men. 
This  purty  little  gal  is  a  runaway  rebel,  come  in  wid  the 
nagur  there." 


142  DOHA  DAItLIXG. 

Relieved  by  this  explanation  from  the  fear  of  an  en- 
chanted di'aught,  private  O'Sullivan  drained  the  canteen 
offered  him,  and  returned  it  with  a  "  Blissin'  on  yer 
purty  face,  my  darlint !  " 

Dora,  delighted  with  her  new  office,  next  approached, 
with  a  shy,  serious  grace,  the  lines  of  soldiers,  who, 
most  of  them,  looked  hot  and  tired  after  their  exertions 
of  the  forenoon,  although  they  stood  steadily  to  their 
ranks,  ready  at  any  instant  to  repel  the  most  unexpected 
attack  on  the  part  of  the  enemy,  who  might,  very  possi- 
bly, attempt  to  harass  the  rear  of  the  army  they  had  not 
dared  to  meet  openly  in  the  field. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

"Mat  I  give  the  men  some  water,  please,  sir?" 
asked  Dora  of  the  first  officer  she  approached. 

"Yes,  my  child,  if  you  will  give  me  some  too,"  said 
the  major,  —  for  he  it  was,  —  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

Dora  filled  the  cup  from  a  bucket  that  Picter  had  found 
in  one  of  the  ambulances,  and  ofiered  it  with  a  quaint 
little  courtesy. 

The  major  drank  eagerly. 

"  I  didn't  know  I  was  so  thirsty,"  said  he.  "  What 
a  nice  little  vivandiere  you  make,  my  dear  !  What  is 
your  name?" 

"  Dora  Darley,  sir." 

"  And  where  did  you  come  from?  " 

"  I  came  here  with  Picter.  I  am  going  North  with  the 
Twenty  —  Ohio  regiment,  to  find  my  aunt,"  said  Dora, 
simply. 

"  The  dickens  you  are  !  You're  a  cool  little  body,  any 
way,"  exclaimed  the  officer,  looking  at  her  with  an  ex- 
pression of  amused  surprise. 

"Do  you  hear  this,  colonel?"  continued  he,  as  his 
superior  officer  came  up  to  speak  with  him. 

(143) 


144  DORA    DARLIXG: 

"TV'hat  is  it,  major?  " 

"  Why,  here's  a  young  lady,  who  says  her  name  is 
Dora  Darley,  and  that  she  came  here  under  the  escort  of 
Picter,  to  travel  North  with  the  regiment." 

"  Indeed  !  "  exclaimed  the  colonel,  smiling  slightly,  but 
fixing  his  eyes  somewhat  sharply  upon  the  child,  who 
blushed  a  little  as  she  noticed  the  attentive  eyes  and  ears, 
and  the  quizzical  smiles,  of  the  group  of  officers  now  sur- 
rounding her.  But,  after  a  slightly  troubled  glance 
around  the  circle  of  strangers,  her  clear  eyes  sought  the 
grave  and  kindly  face  of  the  colonel,  and  rested  there. 

"  And  how  came  you  to  think  of  joining  this  regiment, 
little  one?"  asked  he,  at  length,  in  a  softer  voice. 

"Because  Picter  belongs  to  it,  and  so  does  —  some- 
body I  know,"  replied  Dora,  hesitating  a  little  as  she 
remembered  that  her  mother's  visitor  had  said  that 
"  Captain  Karl "  was  only  a  home  name. 

"  And  who  is  Picter?  "  pursued  the  colonel. 

"  Picter  !  Don't  you  know  Picter,  sir?  Why,  he  be- 
longs to  this  regiment.     He's  —    O,  there  he  is  !  " 

She  pointed,  as  she  spoke,  to  the  negro,  who,  finding 
that  his  little  mistress  was  about  to  have  an  interview 
with  the  higher  powers,  had  modestly  shrouded  himself 
from  observation  behind  the  group  of  officers. 

"  It's  a  contraband,  that  has  been  cooking  for  the  men 
for  the  last  few  weeks,  colonel,"  explained  the  captain  of 
Co.  B.,  in  an  apologetic  sort  of  manner. 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF    THE   REGIMEXT.  145 

"  Indeed  !  Is  their  cuisine  so  elaborate  in  its  arrange- 
ments that  they  have  to  employ  a  professional  ?  "  asked 
the  colonel,  a  little  sarcastically. 

"  He  was  going  North,  but  Captain  Karl  brought  him 
here,"  interposed  Dora,  rather  hastily,  as  if  anxious  to 
explain  that  her  old  friend  had  not  attached  himself  to 
the  regiment  uninvited. 

''  And  who  is  Captain  Karl?"  asked  the  colonel  again. 

"  That  isn't  his  name  ;  not  all  his  name,  at  least.  He 
is  —  O,  there  he  is  !  "  cried  Dora,  joyfully,  as  she  caught 
sight  of  her  friend  advancing  down  the  valley  at  the  head 
of  his  company,  who  had  been  detailed  to  make  a  final 
search  in  the  thickets  on  the  hill-side  for  any  wounded 
who  miglit  have  been  concealed  there,  and  overlooked. 

"TN'hat!  Captain  Windsor?"  asked  the  colonel. 

"  Yes,  sir.  He  was  a  prisoner,  and  was  at  our  house, 
and  Picter  showed  him  the  way.'* 

"  O,  ho  !  Yes,  indeed,  I  have  heard  that  story  from 
the  captain  himself,  and  I  remember  now  about  the  black 
fellow.  Windsor  asked  to  have  him  attached  to  the  reo^i- 
ment  in  some  fashion,  and  I  told  him  to  set  him  to  help 
the  cook.  Bless  my  soul !  I  had  forgotten  all  about  it. 
And  so  you  belong  to  the  good  woman  who  took  care  of 
the  poor  boy,  and  set  him  forward  on  his  way  ?  " 

*'  It  was  mother,  sir,"  said  Dora,  with  the  old  strait- 
ness  settling  upon  her  lips. 

"  And  how  came  mother  to  send  you  after  him,  child?" 
13 


146  DORA  DAliLIXG: 

"  She  is  dead,  sir,"  said  Dora,  softly. 

"  Tut,  tut !  is  it  so?  And  where  are  the  rest  of  your 
family,  my  poor  little  maid  ?  " 

"  My  father  and  brother  are  in  the  rebel  army,  sir, 
and  my  aunt  was  not  kind  ;  so  I  went  away  from  her." 

''  Went  away  —  how  ?  " 

"  In  the  night,  with  Picter.  Mother  didn't  want  us 
to  be  rebels.  She  told  me  to  go  away  to  the  Xorth  as 
soon  as  I  could,"  said  Dora,  anxiously,  for  a  little  cloud 
had  settled  upon  the  colonel's  brow.  It  cleared  now, 
however. 

"So  mother  didn't  want  you  to  be  a  rebel,  eh?" 
asked  he. 

"  No,  sir.     Nor  I  didn't  want  to  myself." 

"  What,  you  are  a  Union  girl,  then?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I'm  Union  all  through,"  asseverated  Dora 
so  earnestly,  that  a  smile  went  round  the  circle  of  atten- 
tive listeners. 

"  That's  right,  Dora.  You  said  your  name  was  Dora 
—  didn't  you?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  Dora  Darley." 

"  Dora  Darling^  I  shall  feel  inclined  to  call  you,"  said 
the  colonel,  pleasantly.  "  And  if  you  are  going  to  join 
the  regiment,  I  shall  give  you  the  rank  of  vivmidiere. 
Would  you  like  that  ?  " 

"What  is  that,  sir?  "  asked  Dora,  gravely. 

"  You  will  have  to  do  just  what  you  have  been  doing 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE  REGIME  XT.  147 

now  —  carry  water  to  all  tlic  wounded  men  after  a  bat- 
tle, and  bring  relief  to  them,  if  tliey  are  unable  to  seek  it. 
Then  you  can  help  in  the  hospital  a  good  deal,  I  dare 
say,  and  there  will  be  a  good  many  ways  of  making 
yourself  useful  to  the  sick  and  wounded.  I  shall  give 
you  into  the  chaplain's  care,  and  he  will  tell  you  what  to 
do.     Would  you  like  it?" 

"  O,  yes,  sir  !  That  is  just  what  I  should  like  better 
than  anything,"  cried  Dora,  with  shining  eyes  and  joy- 
ful smile. 

"  All  right,  then.  —  Attention  !  "  The  colonel,  taking 
Dora  by  the  hand,  led  her  a  few  paces  back,  so  that  she 
might  be  seen  by  the  whole  regiment.  Every  eye  was 
fixed  upon  her.  "  Boys,"  said  the  colonel,  pleasantly, 
''  here  is  Dora  Darling,  who  is  for  the  future  to  act  as 
vivandiere  of  this  regiment.  Remember  that  every  man 
of  you  is  bound  to  guard  and  protect  her  as  if  she  were 
his  own  daughter  or  sister.  She  is,  in  fact,  the  daughter 
of  the  regiment  so  long  as  she  remains  with  it,  and 
longer,  if  you  choose.     I  place  her  in  your  care." 

"  Three  cheers  for  Dora  Darling,  the  daughter  of  the 
regiment !  "  suggested  the  major,  gayly  ;  and  three  hearty 
cheers  Avent  up  from  the  smiling  ranks. 

"  And  three  cheers  for  Colonel  Blank,  the  father  of  the 
regiment !  "  added  a  veteran  sergeant,  stepping  forward 
in  his  place. 

The  salute  to  the  deservedly  popular  colonel  was  given 


148  DOHA  DABLIXGi 

even  more  enthusiastically  than  that  to  the  adopted 
daughter. 

"  And  now  three  for  the  battle  of  Green  Brier,  my 
lads,  and  then  we  must  be  moving,"  said  the  colonel,  as 
he  affably  saluted  the  regiment  in  acknowledgment  of  the 
compliment. 

*'  But,  after  all,  the  men  have  had  no  water,"  mur- 
mured Dora  to  Picter,  as,  in  the  bustle  of  "  falling  in," 
she  found  herself  again  beside  him. 

"  No  more  dey  hasn',  but  dey's  got  a  wandieer,  an' 
dat's  mos'  de  same  ting,"  said  Picter,  grimly  ;  for  the 
poor  old  fellow  had  found  his  pride  in  his  little  mistress's 
sudden  promotion  and  adoption  sadly  checked  by  the 
reflection  that,  now  she  had  a  thousand  new  friends,  she 
would  hardly  remember  the  one  humble  old  one,  who 
had,  but  an  hour  before,  felt  as  if  she  were  almost  his 
own. 

With  feminine  intuition  Dora  perceived  the  jealous 
pang,  with  feminine  tact  she  relieved  it. 

"  They  are  very  good.  Pic,  aren't  they,  to  give  us  both 
something  to  do  while  we  stay  with  them  ?  TVe  shall 
often  talk  of  them  after  we  are  settled  at  home  there  in 
the  Xorth." 

"  Bress  de  lamb  !  She  won't  neber  forgit  nobody  dat 
she's  sot  by,"  replied  Pic,  rather  irrelevantly. 

"  The  vivandiere  is  to  ride  in  ambulance  No.  3,"  said 
an  orderly,  hastening  up  to  Dora,  and  smiling  pleasantly 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  BEGIMEXT.  149 

as  he  pointed  to  the  Avagon.  "  It's  the  colonel's  orders. 
Picter,  you'll  have  to  foot  it  with  the  rest  of  us,  I  ex- 
pect." 

"  I'm  got  my  hoss  in  de  Avood  dah,  t'ank  you,  sah  !  " 
returned  Picter,  with  much  majesty  ;  and,  as  the  laugh- 
ing orderly  full  back  to  his  station,  the  negro  led  Dora  to 
her  appointed  chariot,  helped  her  to  a  seat  beside  the 
driver,  and  then  scuttled  off  to  the  Avoods,  Avliere  he  had 
left  the  redoubtable  Jump  snatching  a  hasty  lunch  from 
the  short,  sweet,  mountain  grass. 

A  few  minutes  later,  tlie  last  fdes  of  the  rear  guard 
disappeared  from  the  beautiful  valley,  and  the  occupants 
of  Camp  Bartow  were  left  once  more  in  peace,  with  only 
their  shattered  works  and  dead  or  Avounded  comrades  to 
remind  them  of  their  late  unpleasant  visitors. 
13* 


CHAPTER    XYII. 

Colonel  Blank  did  not  forget  his  promise  of  putting 
Dora  under  the  care  and  instruction  of  the  chaplain  of 
his  regiment ;  and  the  morning  after  her  arrival  in  camp 
she  was  summoned  to  the  colonel's  tent,  to  be  introduced 
to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Brown,  commonly  called,  among  the 
somewhat  unruly  members  of  his  flock,  Fight-and-pray, 
from  a  tradition  that  he  had  been  found,  on  the  occasion 
of  a  sudden  surprise  by  the  enemy,  crouching  behind  a 
stone  wall  within  aiming  distance,  and  loading  and  firing 
with  a  promptness  and  exactness  that  no  amount  of  drill 
could  have  improved. 

In  person  the  chaplain  was  tall,  broad-shouldered,  and 
athletic,  with  a  face  more  manly  than  handsome,  and  a 
manner  more  earnest  than  polished.  The  men  almost 
adored  him ;  his  brother  officers  were  divided  into  two 
classes,  one  of  ardent  friends,  the  other  of  sneering  ene- 
mies ;  no  one  regarded  the  Rev.  Mr.  Brown  with  indif- 
ference or  contempt. 

"  Here  is  our  new  daughter,  parson,"  said  the  colonel, 
as  Dora,  deserted  at  the  door  of  the  tent  by  the  orderly 
who  had  brought  her,  entered  alone  and  came  slowly 
(150) 


TEE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  151 

forward.  "  This  is  Mr.  Brown,  Dora,  who  is  going  to 
be  so  kind  as  to  look  after  you  a  little  while  we  remain 
here.  He  is  your  spiritual  father,  child,  although  of  the 
church  militant,  and  as  ready  with  his  weapon,  on  occa- 
sion, as  any  of  us  pooi*  sinners." 

"  Don't  puzzle  her,  Blank,"  whispered  the  chaplain 
hastily  to  the  colonel,  who  ranked  first  in  the  class  of 
ardent  friends  above  alluded  to.  "  Don't  make  her  afraid 
of  us.  Come  here,  my  dear,"  continued  he  aloud, 
extending  a  cordial  hand  to  meet  Dora's  somewhat 
backward  one. 

"  So  you  have  come  to  help  me  a  little  in  the  hos- 
pital?" asked  he,  kindly,  as  he  seated  the  child  on  a 
camp  stool  beside  him. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Dora,  rather  coldly;  and  then  her 
eyes,  hitherto  downcast,  rose  slowly  to  the  level  of  his 
face,  and  calmly,  not  boldly,  rested  there  long  enough 
to  fully  scan  its  lines  and  expression. 

"  He  isn't  handsome,  but  he  looks  real  good,  and  as 
if  he  knew  more  than  almost  any  one,"  was  the  thought 
that  shaped  itself  in  Dora's  mind  as  she  kept  her  steady 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  somewhat  rugged  face,  that  at  last 
blushed  like  a  boy's  beneath  her  scrutiny. 

"  Ma  foi^  cette  demoiselle  vous  fait  grancV attention^ 
mon  heau  gargon"  *  said  the  colonel,  laughing. 

*  By  my  faith,  this  young  lady  is  very  much  taken  with  you,  my 
iiandsome  fellow. 


152  DOB  A  DABLIXG: 

"  Cliut !  C'est  enfant  d'apres  nature.  N'effraycz 
pas,"  *  retorted  the  chaplain,  recovering  his  self-pos- 
session. 

"  And  perhaps  you  will  like  to  study  a  little  with  me, 
when  we  have  time,"  continued  the  chaplain,  wlio  all 
this  time  had  looked  at  Dora  as  steadily  as  she  at  him. 
A  sudden  color  flashed  over  the  child's  face,  not,  as  with 
the  sturdy  chaplain,  from  difSdence,  but  from  the  sudden 
spring  of  hope  and  joy. 

"O,  sir,"  cried  she,  "will  you  teach  me?"  I  want 
so  to  know  things." 

"Things?     What  things?"  laughed  her  new  friend. 

"  Everything,"  returned  Dora,  with  confident  resolve 
in  her  voice. 

"  Then  you  feel  ready  to  set  yourself  to  work  to  learn 
everything,  supposing  I  allow  myself  able  to  teach  it  to 
you?  "  asked  Mr.  Brown,  still  smiling. 

"  Yes.  I  think  I  never  should  be  tired  of  learning. 
I  don't  know  anything  now,"  said  Dora,  thoughtfully. 

"  So  far  advanced  as  that !  "  exclaimed  the  chaplain. 
"Well,  if  you  are  going  to  be  so  untiring,  we  shall 
have  our  hands  full,  for  I  will  never  be  the  first  to  cry, 
'  Enough  I '  So,  now,  if  Colonel  Blank  will  excuse  us, 
we  will  go  to  the  hospital  for  a  while,  and  then  begin 
our  course  of  study."  ^ 

"  But  don't  try  to  learn  everything  in  one  day,  my 

*  Hush !   She  is  a  child  of  nature.    Do  not  alarm  her. 


THE  D  AUGHT  EH   OF  THE  ItEGIMEXT.  153 

Fille  du  Regiment^  or  we  may  lose  our  little  vivandihre 
before  Ave  have  even  seen  her  in  service.  By  the  way,  I 
must  look  up  some  sort  of  uniform  for  her." 

Passing  from  the  tent  of  the  colonel,  Mr.  Brown,  hold- 
ing Dora's  hand  within  his  own,  now  led  her  toward  a 
large  pavilion  a  little  without  the  camp,  made  by  the 
combination  of  several  tents  into  one,  the  curtains  be- 
tween being  looped  up  for  air,  or  lowered  for  warmth,  as 
occasion  might  require.  Along  the  sides  of  this  pavilion 
lay  two  long  ranges  of  pallets  spread  upon  the  floor, 
AA'hicli  had  been  roughly  boarded,  or,  more  properly 
speaking,  logged,  from  the  neighboring  forest. 

Another  row  of  beds  down  the  middle  of  the  pavilion 
was  also  nearly  filled  witli  wounded  or  diseased  sufferers  ; 
for  many  of  the  prisoners  taken  upon  the  previous  even- 
ing had  been  wounded,  and  were  now  placed  side  by 
side,  and  attended  with  the  same  care  as  the  Union 
soldiers. 

The  surgeons  passed  busily  from  bed  to  bed,  followed 
by  attendants  with  bandages,  basins,  clean  garments, 
and  food.  The  chaplain's  smiling  face  grew  earnest  as 
the  sights  and  sounds  of  suffering  that  filled  the  place 
smote  upon  eye  and  ear. 

"  Here  is  enough  to  be  done,  Dora,"  said  he,  cheerful- 
ly. "  Let  us  set  ourselves  to  work.  You  had  better 
wash  this  poor  fellow's  face  and  hands.  The  nurses  have 
no  time  to  attend  to  him,  with  all  these  wounds  to  look 


154  DOHA  DAIiLIXG. 

after.  He  is  a  fever  patient,  and  has  been  here  some 
Jays.  Melvin,  you  can  give  your  basin  and  towel  to 
this  girl — can  you  not?  and  bring  another  for  yourself." 

The  attendant  immediately  complied  with  this  request, 
and  Dora  went  to  work  so  deftly  and  so  tenderly,  that 
the  chaplain,  after  ■watching  her  a  moment  or  two,  said 
cheerily,  — 

"  Yes,  you  will  do  nicely.  After  you  have  finished 
with  him,  you  can  get  more  water  from  the  pail  out 
there,  and  go  to  the  next.  All  at  this  end  of  the  tent 
are  convalescents,  whom  you  can  attend  as  well  as  a  sur- 
geon. T\"hen  you  wish  to  know  anything  more,  you  can 
come  to  me." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Dora,  softly,  as  she  leaned 
tenderly  over  the  poor  fever  patient,  who  was  moaning 
out  a  petition  for  water. 

Mr.  Brown  watched  again  while  the  youthful  nurse 
raised  the  heavy  head,  and  carefully  placed  the  cup  to 
the  eager  lips.     Then  once  more  saying,  — 

"  Yes,  you  will  do  nicely,  my  child,"  he  turned  away 
to  seek  the  spot  where  his  strong  arm  and  brave  words 
might  best  uphold  the  shrinking  suiFerers  groaning  be- 
neath the  surgeon's  sharp  remedies. 

Noon  came,  and  Dora,  hastening  from  the  kitchen  tent 
with  a  bowl  of  broth  for  a  poor  fellow  who  had  confided 
to  her  that  he  was  "just  about  starving  for  his  dinner," 
was  met  by  the  chaplain,  who  had  been  looking  for  her. 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  155 

"Come, Dora  Darling,"  said  he,  after  a  scrutinizing 
glance  at  her  pale  face  and  disordered  dress,  "  I  thi'^^ 
you  have  done  enough  for  once.  I  will  not  have  you 
tire  yourself  out  the  first  day.  Come  to  my  tent,  and 
I  shall  send  you  some  dinner  there.  I  am  sorry  I 
cannot  ask  you  to  dine  witli  me ;  but  I  do  not  keep 
a  table  by  myself,  and  do  not  wish  to  take  you  to  the 
mess-table.  You  will  want  to  arrange  your  dress  a 
little  before  dinner,  I  suppose.  Where  are  your  quar- 
ters?" 

"Sir?" 

"Where  did  you  sleep  last  night?  " 

"  In  the  cooking  tent,  sir.  Picter  made  me  a  bed 
there  with  some  blankets." 

"  You  must  have  another  place.  I  will  see  to  it  before 
night.  Meantime  you  shall  come  to  my  tent,  or  rather 
wait  here  a  few  minutes  till  I  have  washed  my  own 
hands,  and  then  I  Avill  send  for  you." 

He  laughed  as  he  went  away,  and  Dora  remained  in  a 
happy  reverie  upon  her  new  life  and  new  friends,  until 
the  chaplain's  servant  came  to  summon  her  to  the  tent 
which  Mr.  Brown  had  left  for  her  occupation  while  he 
was  at  dinner.  The  servant,  having  pointed  out  the 
toilet  apparatus,  which  had  been  scrupulously  re-arranged 
for  her,  withdrew,  after  promising  to  return  with  some 
dinner  in  a  few  minutes. 

Dora,  with  a  new  care  for  her  appearance,  hastened  to 


156  DORA    DAIiLIXG: 

remove  the  stains  of  her  late  occupation  from  hands  and 
srmp,  to  bathe  her  heated  face,  and  scrupulously  arrange 
her  luxuriant  and  waving  hair.  Then  she  looked  dov%'n 
at  her  torn  and  travel-stained  dress,  and  hoped  that  the 
colonel  vould  not  forget  his  intention  to  provide  a  new 
one  for  her. 

*'  Picter  thinks  I  am  so  wonderfully  neat !  I  wonder 
if  he  ever  looked  at  Mr.  Brown's  hands,  and  nails,  and 
teeth,  and  hair,"  thought  simple  little  Dora,  wistfully  ex- 
amining herself  in  the  bit  of  looking-glass  taken  from 
the  chaplain's  dressing-case,  and  hung  up  for  her  accom- 
modation. 

She  was  still  engaged  in  this  amusement  when  the  ser- 
vant, whose  name  was  Hepburn,  reentered  the  tent  with 
some  dinner  upon  a  little  tray.  He  set  it  upon  the  camp 
table  with  the  remark,  — 

"  Mr.  Brown  sent  you  this,  miss,  from  the  colonel's 
table." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Dora,  turning  away  from  the 
glass  with  a  very  unusual  color  burning  in  her  cheeks. 

"  I  ain't  only  Mr.  Brown's  man,  miss,"  said  the  man, 
smiling  a  little  at  the  title  given  him.  "  Is  there  any- 
thing more  that  I  can  get  for  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  thank  you.     Do  you  belong  to  the  regiment?" 

"  Yes,  miss." 

"  Then  don't  say  miss  to  me.  I'm  the  daughter  of 
the  regiment,"  said  Dora,  with  a  little  laugh. 


THE  DAVanTER   OF  THE  EEQIMEXT.  157 

"  Yes,  miss,  I  know  it,"  said  Hepburn.     "  And  we're* 
all  proud  and  glad  to  liave  you  our  daughter  ;  but  Mr. 
Brown  said  I  was  to  call  you  2Iiss  Dora,  and  that  the 
colonel  wanted  all  the  men  to  do  the  same." 

"O,"  said  Dora,  thoughtfully,  "then  I  suppose  you 
must.     Do  you  know  what  they  call  them -generally  ?  " 

"What,  Miss  Dora?" 

"Why,  what  the  colonel  said  I  was  to  be  —  a  vivau' 
dero,  I  believe,"  said  Dora,  coloring  again  with  the  fear 
of  commhting  a  blunder. 

"  Vivandiere,  I  think  they  call  it,  miss." 

"  Well,  how  do  the  soldiers  speak  to  them  generally  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  miss.  I  never  knew  a  regiment  that 
had  one,  though  I  know  some  of  them  do." 

"  Well,  I  suppose,  if  Mr.  Brown  says  so,  it  is  right ; 
but  no  one  ever  called  me  miss,  before,"  said  Dora, 
thoughtfully,  as  she  seated  herself  and  began  to  eat. 

Hepburn,  after  waiting  a  moment  to  see  if  he  could 
do  anything  more,  withdrew  to  assure  his  mess-mates 
that  the  little  vivandiere  was  a  darling  by  nature  as 
well  as  by  name,  and  that  he,  for  one,  Avouid  stick  by 
her  just  the  same  as  if  she  was  his  own  sister. 

After  dinner,  Mr.  Brown,  returning  to  the  tent,  found 
his  little  charge  somewhat  impatiently  awaiting  him. 

"Well,  Dora,"  said  he,  gayly,  "  are  you  all  ready  for 
the  Greek  Grammar,  or  shall  we  begin  with  German?" 

"  I  think  sir,  if  you  will  let  me,  I  had  rather  go  back 
U 


158  DORA  DAELIXG- 

to  the  hospital,  and  see  if  all  the  men  have  had  their  dinner. 
I  know  there  Avere  a  good  many  who  wanted  some  Avhen 
I  came  away,"  said  Dora,  earnestly. 

Mr.  Brown  looked  at  her  attentively,  and  then  took 
from  his  trunk  a  little  volume  of  illustrated  poems. 

The  plates  were  artistic  in  design  and  exquisite  in  ex- 
ecution, and  Mr.  Brown,  carelessly  opening  the  book, 
placed  it  in  Dora's  hand,  saying,  in  an  offhand  man- 
ner,— 

"  Well,  we  will  go  in  a  few  minutes.  There  are  some 
pictures  for  you  to  look  at." 

^'O,  thank  you,  sir!"  said  the  child,  as  she  eagerly, 
but  carefully,  grasped  the  book. 

Mr.  Brown,  taking  another,  sat  down  to  watch  her. 
The  engraving  to  Avhich  he  had  accidentally  opened  rep- 
resented King  Arthur  floating  alone  upon  the  haunted 
lake,  whence  uprose  the  arm  "  clothed  in  white  samite, 
mystic,  wonderful,"  extending  towards  his  grasp  the  magic 
sword  Excalibur. 

An  air  of  romance,  of  chivahy,  of  knightly  prowess 
clung  about  not  only  the  figure  of  the  king,  but  was  ex- 
pressed in  all  his  surroundings,  —  in  the  prow  of  his  boat, 
carved  to  the  likeness  of  the  dragon's  head  —  in  the  bold 
sweep  of  the  shore  —  in  the  transparent  waters,  where 
the  dim  outline  of  the  mermaid's  figure  melted  undistin- 
guishably  into  the  ripple  of  the  wave  —  in  the  gemmed 
hilt  of  the  wonderful  sword,  whence  di'ipped  the  spar- 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REGIMENT.  159 

kling  drops,  as  it  uprose  to  meet  the  extended  hand  of 
the  great  Pendragon. 

Dora  looked  at  it  eagerly  for  a  moment,  and  then 
raised  her  eyes  inquiringly  to  the  chaplain's  face.  He 
met  and  answered  the  look  smilingly. 

"  Do  you  wonder  what  it  means?" 

"  Yes,  sir.     Will  you  please  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  will."  And  in  a  few,  clear,  sparkling 
phrases  the  chaplain  related  the  outline  of  Arthur's  story, 
particularly  the  scene  represented  in  the  picture. 

Dora  listened,  not  with  her  ears  alone,  but  with  her 
eyes,  her  parted  lips,  her  deepening  color,  her  whole  lithe 
body.  She  was  charmed  and  absorbed  as  only  a  child 
on  the  verge  of  maturity,  to  whose  youth  has  been  denied 
all  knowledge  of  such  matters,  can  be,  when  the  world 
of  romance  and  story  is  first  opened  to  her  bewildered 
vision. 

Suddenly,  however,  her  attention  Avavered.  She  closed 
the  book,  and  rising,  stood  waiting  until  the  chaplain 
should  have  finished  speaking. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Mr.  Brown,  breaking  off  ab- 
ruptly in  the  middle  of  a  most  interesting  account  of 
the  Round  Table.     "  Are  you  tired  of  my  story?" 

"  O,  no,  indeed,  sir,"  cried  Dora,  with  such  unaffected 
earnestness,  that  the  chaplain  smiled.  "  I  could  listen  all 
night  and  all  to-morrow  to  it ;  but,  sir,  you  know  those 
men  haven't  had  their  dinner." 


160  noPiA  DAnzixG: 

"  Well,  on  the  next  page  there  is  another  picture  that 
shows  the  last  scene  of  Arthur's  life.  Don't  you  Avant 
to  look  at  that,  and  hear  a  little  about  it  before  you 
go?" 

Dora  glanced  wistfully  at  the  book,  still  in  her  hand, 
then  stepped  resolutely  forward,  and  laid  it  upon  the 
table,  saving,  at  the  same  time, — 

"  If  you  had  just  as  lief,  sir,  I  had  rather  hccir  about 
it  another  time." 

"  But  suppose,  Dora,  I  can't  tell  you  about  it  another 
time?"  asked  the  chaplain,  intent  upon  trying  the  child's 
resolution  to  the  extent. 

Dora  looked  steadily  into  the  grave  face,  where  was 
to  be  read  no  leniency  of  purpose. 

"  I  tliink  you  will,  sir,"  said  she  boldly,  at  length. 

"But  if  I  won't?" 

"  Then,  sir,  I  think  I  had  better  go  without  the  pic- 
tures than  the  men  without  their  dinner,"  said  the  girl, 
with  a  little  sigh,  as  she  turned  to  leave  the  tent. 

"  Wait  a  moment ;  I  am  coming  too,"  said  Mr.  Brown, 
briefly ;  and  as  he  carefully  deposited  the  book  in  its 
place,  he  smiled,  and  whispered  to  himself,  "  You'll  do, 
my  little  heroine." 

But  the  chaplain  was  too  wise  to  spoil  by  praise  the  un- 
consciousness of  merit  that  gave  such  a  charm  to  the  little 
act  of  self-sacrifice,  and  as  he  Avalked  along  with  Dora 
towards  the  hospital,  he  only  said,  — 


,  THE  DAUGHTEIt   OF  THE  liEGIMEXT.  161 

"  Yes ;  duty  comes  before  pleasure,  or  should  do  so, 
at  even  a  greater  cost  than  the  story  of  King  Arthur." 

"  Good  morning,  or  afternoon,  if  you  have  dined, 
Brown,"  called  a  cheery  voice  from  behind. 

"Good  afternoon,  Windsor,"  said  the  chaplain,  turning 
to  meet  the  young  captain,  who  was  hastening  after  him. 
"  You  were  coming  to  see  me?" 

"  iSTot  you  exactly,  but  this  young  lady,  who  is  an  old 
friend  of  mine.  You  have  not  forgotten  me.  Miss  Dora 
—  have  you  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  you  are  Captain  Karl,"  said  Dora,  gravely. 

The  two  officers  smiled,  and  Captain  Windsor  an- 
swered, — 

"  So  I  am,  Dora.  Captain  Karl  to  you  and  my  little 
sister  and  brother  at  home,  and  one  or  two  other  good 
friends  far  away  just  now.  I  knew  you  in  a  moment  last 
night,  but  could  not  get  a  chance  to  speak  to  you,  although 
I  am  sure  you  heard  me  cheer  when  the  colonel  proposed 
you  as  '  Daughter  of  the  Regiment ; '  now,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  They  all  cheered,  you  know.  Captain  Karl,"  said 
Dora,  hesitatingly,  evidently  afraid  of  hurting  her  new 
friend's  feelings  by  confessing  that  she  had  not  distin- 
guished his  voice  from  the  rest. 

'•  But  I  louder  tlian  any  one  else,"  persisted  the  cap- 
tain, Avith  a  twinkle  of  the  bright  blue  eyes.  "  Now  con- 
fess that  you  noticed  one  particularly  clear  and  sonorous 
note  above  the  general  shout,  and  wondered  whose  it  was." 
14* 


162  DORA  DARLIXG. 

"  You  was  very  kind  to  try  so  hard,"  said  Dora,  with 
a  simple  pity  in  her  voice  that  quite  turned  the  intended 
jest  against  its  perpetrator. 

"  Yes,  Windsor,"  said  the  chaplain,  gravely,  "  it  was 
wrong  of  you  to  make  such  an  effort.  You  might  have 
injured  yourself  seriously." 

Captain  Karl  colored  a  little,  but  answered  the  chap- 
lain's satirical  smile  with  a  gay  laugh. 

"Xa  Fille  die  Regiment  has  an  able  ally  in  its  chaplain," 
said  he,  merrily.     "And  where  are  you  going  now?" 

"  To  the  hospital.  We  are  volunteer  aids  on  the  staff 
of  nurses,"  replied  Mr.  Brown,  in  the  same  tone.  "  But 
if  you  will  come  to  my  tent  after  parade,  I  shall  be  happy 
to  see  you ;  and  so  Avill  Dora,  I  do  not  doubt." 

^^Au  revoir,  then.  I  don't  affect  hospital  sights  and 
sounds  when  I  can  be  of  no  use  ;  "  and  the  young  man 
sauntered  away,  twisting  his  fair  mustache,  and  humming 
a  soldier's  air. 

"  That  boy  has  the  making  of  a  fine  man  in  him,  if  he 
learns  that  little  maxim  I  just  quoted,  Dora,"  said  Mr. 
Brown,  as  he  held  aside  the  flap  of  the  tent  door  for  her 
to  enter  first. 

"  What  maxim,  sir?"  asked  Dora,  a  little  puzzled. 

"  Xow  let  us  see  who  wants  some  dinner?"  replied 
the  chaplain,  with  a  smile. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

After  this,  for  several  weeks,  the  little  vivandiere  led 
a  very  active  life.  There  were  many  wounded  and  sick 
men  in  the  hospital,  who  needed  almost  incessant  care  ; 
and  the  soldier  nurses,  overwearied  and  overburdened 
as  they  were,  found  themselves  very  glad  to  accept  the 
services  so  eagerly  offered  by  Dora. 

In  fact,  so  little  care  or  pity  had  the  child  for  herself, 
that  Mr.  Brown  was  frequently  obliged  to  interfere  with 
an  authority  that  she  never  thought  of  resisting,  and  force 
her  to  take  time  for  rest  or  recreation.  For  regular  study 
there  was,  as  yet,  no  opportunity  ;  but  the  chaplain  had 
with  him  a  few  well-selected  books,  and  was  able  to  bor- 
row others,  so  that  there  was  always  something  for  Dora 
either  to  read  to  herself,  or  to  hear  Mr.  Brown  read  aloud 
for  her  instruction  or  amusement.  The  story  of  King 
Arthur,  and  that  of  many  a  knightly  hero  of  that  and 
later  ages,  had  been  fully  told,  with  such  comments  and 
explanations  as  gave  the  child  subject  for  thoughts  and 
dreams  far  beyond  the  scope  of  the  mere  narrative. 

The  chaplain,  with  delight  not  unmingled  with  a  cer- 
tain awe,  beheld  a  mind,  developing  beneath  his  teachings, 

(163) 


16-4:     .  DORA  DAELIXG: 

of  no  ordinary  vigor  and  grasp  —  a  mind  of  sucli  activity 
and  constant  thirst  for  information,  that  he  hardly  dared 
keep  pace  with  its  demand,  wliile  it  was  protected  from 
undue  severity  by  a  vivid  and  graceful  foncy. 

But  this  fine  intellect  was  not  Dora's  greatest  charm  in 
her  teacher's  eyes.  Mrs.  Darley,  although  she  had  been 
unable  to  give  her  daughter  the  education  she  had  never 
herself  received,  had  labored  zealously  and  constantly  to 
make  her  good  ;  and  these  efforts,  seconded  by  the  child's 
own  nature,  had  been  so  successful,  that  to  be  true,  self- 
denying,  patient,  and  industrious,  were  as  inevitable  with 
Dora  as  her  breath.  And  even  Mr.  Brown,  a  man  in 
whose  strong  nature  the  good  often  conquered  the  evil 
only  after  a  fierce  struggle,  stood  more  than  once  rebuked 
before  the  rectitude  and  conscientiousness  of  the  child, 
who,  in  her  turn,  looked  upon  the  chaplain  as  the  incar- 
nation of  human  virtue  and  wisdom. 

Captain  Karl  also  was  soon  a  fast  friend  and  favorite 
of  Dora,  who  always  greeted  his  approach  with  one  of 
the  merry  smiles  that  had  been  becoming  ftir  more  frequent 
upon  her  face  than  they  v»-ere  in  the  old  time,  M'lien  care 
and  sorrow  had  formed  so  large  a  portion  of  her  life.  To 
tell  the  truth,  the  young  captain  and  the  vivandih-e  were 
quite  as  much  playfellows  as  friends,  and  might  have  been 
seen,  in  many  a  clear  twilight,  building  little  dams  in  the 
brook  just  without  the  camp,  or  playing  at  ball,  or  even 
catch-who-catch-can,  upon  the  mountain  side. 


THE  DAVGHTER   OF    THE  REGIMEXT.  165 

"With  the  men  Dora  was  a  universal  favorite,  although, 
partly  in  obedience  to  a  hint  from  Mr.  Brown,  partly 
from  a  native  sense  of  propriety,  she  mingled  but  little 
with  them,  and  nevp.r  familiarly. 

It  soon,  however,  became  an  established  custom,  that 
every  Sunday  afternoon,  as  many  as  could  gather  around 
her,  either  in  the  hospital  tent  or  out  of  doors,  collected 
to  listen  while  the  child's  sweet  and  clear  voice  read  out 
some  chapters  in  the  New  Testament,  and  then  led  in  a 
simple  hymn. 

After  this  was  over,  the  soldiers  felt  privileged  to 
approach,  and  hold  a  little  talk  with  their  "  daughter," 
as  they  delighted  to  call  her  ;  and  it  was  good  to  see  how 
even  the  coarsest  of  them  softened  his  voice,  and  chose 
his  phrases  as  fitly  as  he  might,  to  suit  the  ear  and  mind 
of  the  grave  little  girl,  who  spoke  to  each  so  simply  and 
so  gently,  and  yet  impressed  all  with  a  sense  of  her 
womanly  purity  and  dignity. 

"  Arrah,  thin,  an'  it's  like  '  the  dochter,'  that  the  Howly 
Vargin  was,  when  she  was  a  gurrl,"  said  Pat  Maloney, 
on  one  of  these  occasions  tc  his  neighbor,  honest  Sam 
Kyder,  who  answered,  with  gruff  emotion,  — 

"  I  don't  know  nothing  about  your  holy  virgin,  but  I 
had  a  little  sister  that  died  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  '  the 
daughter '  always  makes  me  think  of  her." 

"  Good  night,  tliin,  an'  Hiviu's  blissin'  on  yer  purty 
head,  Dora  Darlint,"  exclaimed  Pat,  as  Dora,  in  passing 


166  DOHA  DAELIXG: 

out,  gave  him  her  hand  in  turn,  Tvith  a  kindly,  "  Good 
night,  Maloney." 

Nor  were  these  expressions  the  only  proofs  of  the 
affection  felt  by  the  regiment  for  its  daughter. 

A  small  tent  communicating  with  the  hospital  pavilion 
had  been  appropriated  as  the  vivandiere's  quarters,  and 
this  was  almost  filled  with  gifts  of  one  sort  and  another 
from  Dora's  six  hundred  or  more  fathers. 

Not  only  had  the  tent  been  neatly  floored  by  one  of  the 
carpenters,  of  whom  there  were  several,  but  a  piece  of 
canvas  had  been  nailed  over  the  boards  by  way  of  carpet. 
The  bedstead,  table,  and  chair  had  been  manufactured  and 
ornamented  with  much  labor  and  some  taste  for  her  ex- 
press use,  and  the  bed  was  warmly  piled  with  blankets 
contributed  by  one  and  another  honest  fellow  who  "  really 
did  not  care  for  it  at  all." 

Pictures,  and  trinkets  carved  of  wood  or  bone,  hung 
upon  the  canvas  walls,  or  lay  upon  the  table  ;  and  Dora 
might  have  covered  every  one  of  her  slender  fingers  with 
the  gutta  percha  rings,  some  of  them  inlaid  with  pearl  or 
silver,  constantly  bestowed  upon  her. 

The  colonel  had  not  forgotten  his  promise  to  find  a 
costume  for  his  little  vivandiere^  but  it  proved  to  be  a 
matter  of  some  difficulty  to  do  so. 

From  the  sutler's  stores  were  provided  a  supply  of 
blue  cloth,  and  thread,  needles,  and  buttons,  and  Dora 
shaped  for  herself  a  short,   full  skirt,  belted  sack,  and 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  167 

Turkish  trousers  ;  but  both  head  and  feet  seemed  likely 
to  remain  bare,  as  neither  shoes  nor  cap  of  the  proper 
size  were  to  be  found,  or  could  easily  be  procured. 

But  private  John  Slocum  had  been  born  a  Yankee,  and 
bred  a  shoemaker,  and  after  two  or  three  days  of  hard 
work  he  brought  forward  a  neat  little  pair  of  high  bal- 
moral  boots  manufactured  out  of  the  cast-off  pair  of  a 
cavalry  captain,  and  presented  them  to  Dora,  with  a 
sheepish  intimation  that,  — 

"  They'll  do,  maybe,  to  keep  you  from  stubbing  your 
toes  off  raound  these  ere  woodsey  places." 

Then  private  Joe  Billings,  who  did  not  often  like  to 
remember  that  he  had  been  a  tailor  before  he  was  a 
soldier,  went  to  work  and  made  a  jaunty  little  red  cap 
gayly  trimmed  with  gold  braid,  out  of  some  odds  and 
ends  of  finery  from  the  officers'  quarters,  and  as  the 
season  advanced  and  the  diiys  grew  chill,  the  same  mar- 
tial tailor  fashioned  a  short  cloak  of  dark-blue  cloth 
trimmed  with  a  broad  red  stripe,  and  fastened  down  the 
front  with  military  buttons,  that  left  nothing  to  be  de- 
sired, either  in  the  way  of  elegance  or  comfort. 

To  this  costume  was  to  be  added,  in  time  of  action,  a 
stout  leathern  belt  circling  the  trim  waist  of  the  vivan- 
diere,  and  upholding  a  small  keg  of  water  at  one  side, 
balanced  by  a  flask  of  spirits  and  a  tin  cup  at  the  other. 
She  was  also  provided  with  a  bottle  of  pungent  smelling 
salts,  and  another  of  hartshorn,  to  be  administered  to  men 
fainting  from  pain  and  exhaustion. 


-1 


168  DORA  DARLIXG: 

She  was,  moreover,  allowed  rations  from  the  colonel's 
mess  table,  and  might  eat  them  in  her  own  quarters. 
It  was  a  strange  life  for  a  little  girl,  but  a  very  comforta- 
ble and  happy  one. 

Only  one  person  was  dissatisfied  with  the  new  order 
of  things  ;  and  this  was  Picter,  who  jealously  felt  that  his 
charge  had  been  taken  out  of  his  hands,  and  removed  far 
beyond  his  reach.  To  be  sure,  Dora  made  every  effort 
to  prove  that  she  retained  the  same  affection  and  confi- 
dence she  had  always  felt  for  her  humble  friend,  and 
often  went  herself  to  look  for  him,  besides  urging  him  to 
come  to  the  hospital  and  see  her.  Picter  received  all 
advances  of  this  sort  gratefully,  but  incredulously. 

"Don'  bodder  youse'f  'bout  me,  missy,"  he  would 
often  say.  "  It  ain't  in  nater  dat  you  don  want  ole 
nigger  chasin'  roun'  arter  you,  now  dat  you's  got  ossifers, 
an'  men,  an'  de  parson  hese'f,  to  wait  'pon  ye." 

"  But  none  of  them  are  like  you,  Picter.  None  of 
them  Avas  my  mother's  old  friend  and  servant,  nor  it 
wasn't  one  of  them  who  brought  me  aAvay  from  the 
place  where  I  was  so  unhappy,  to  this,  where  I  am  so 
happy." 

*'  Yes,  missy,  I  s'pecs  you  is.  Happy  'nough  now 
widout  ole  Pic.  Well,  de  ole  feller '11  go  back  to  de  pots 
an'  pans  ;  ain't  fit  company  for  missy." 

Dora  felt  this  discontent  of  her  retainer  very  acutely, 
and  tried,  whenever  she  could,  to  dispel  it ;  but  besides 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REGIMEXT,  169 

Picter's  own  obstinacy,  she  was  very  often  prevented  from 
seeing  him  by  the  engrossing  nature  of  her  own  business. 

Most  of  the  hospital  patients  were  now  recovering 
from  their  wounds,  and  were  in  that  condition  when 
careful  nursing  and  cheerful  occupation  were  of  more 
importance  than  the  surgeon's  visits.  At  the  head  of 
this  convalescent  department  stood  the  chaplain  and 
Dora,  not  by  actual  appointment,  but  by  a  sort  of  gen- 
eral consent,  including  their  own  ;  and  both  found  quite 
enough  to  fill  hands,  minds,  and  time,  during  the  hours 
to  which  Mr.  Brown  endeavored  to  confine  their  attend- 
ance, for  he  wisely  insisted  on  reserving  time  sufficient 
for  rest,  exercise,  and  food,  both  for  himself  and  his 
pupil. 

Among  Dora's  most  requiring  patients  was  a  young 
Kentucky  artilleryman,  who  had  been  dangerously 
wounded  in  the  head  by  a  piece  of  shell.  For  many 
days  his  life  had  been  despaired  of ;  and  after  he  began 
to  rally  a  little,  it  was  necessary  to  perform  a  severe 
operation,  that  completely  prostrated  his  strength,  and 
left  him,  for  more  than  a  week,  in  a  condition  of  stupor 
from  which  it  was  considered  doubtful  if  he  ever  aroused. 
His  name  was  Merlin,  and  both  Dora  and  Mr.  Brown 
had  taken  the  greatest  interest  in  his  case,  and  attended 
him  with  the  most  unwearied  care. 

At  last  the  surgeon  pronounced  a  favorable  change 
to  have  taken  place,  and  one  day,  after  a  long  eiamina- 
16 


170  DORA  DARLIXG  : 

tion,  both  of  the  wound  and  the  general  condition  of  the 
patient,  he  said,  — 

"  There,  Miss  Dora,  I  give  this  case  into  jour  hands 
now.  Nothing  more  is  required  but  nursing,  light  food, 
and  an  occasional  tonic  draught.  Let  me  know  if  there 
is  any  change,  but  I  think  he  will  do." 

It  was,  therefore,  to  Merlin  especially,  that  Dora's 
first  visit  in  the  morning  and  last  at  night  were  paid,  and 
he  began  steadily  to  improve.  As  consciousness  returned, 
however,  a  settled  melancholy  became  apparent,  and  baf- 
fled all  the  little  arts  of  the  young  nurse  to  vanquish  it. 
In  vain  she  read  interesting  stories  beside  his  pillow,  re- 
peated bits  of  camp  news  and  rumors,  or  tried  to  draw 
him  into  conversation.  Merlin  answered  always  respect- 
fully and  promptly,  but  never  questioned,  or  smiled,  or 
evinced  any  interest  in  the  doings  of  his  fellow-soldiers. 

"He  will  never  get  well  until  he  is  in  better  spirits," 
said  she,  sadly,  to  the  surgeon,  who  rallied  her  upon  the 
slow  convalesence  of  her  patient. 

"  I'm  afraid  he's  a  shirk,  and  don't  want  to  go  back  to 
quarters  and  rations,"  said  the  doctor,  as  he  passed  on, 
without  waiting  to  hear  Dora's  eager  disclaimer. 

The  next  morning,  however,  as  soon  as  she  entered  the 
hospital,  the  young  nurse  perceived  that  some  great  change 
had  taken  place  in  her  languid  patient.  He  had  partially 
risen,  so  as  to  lean  upon  one  elbow,  and  his  flushed  face 
and  glittering  eyes  were  turned  eagerly  towards  the  can- 


THE   DAUGHTER    OF    THE   REGIMENT.  171 

vas  partition,  that  in  these  cold  autumnal  days  "was  kept 
lowered  between  the  different  tents,  that,  as  has  been  ex- 
plained, were  connected  to  form  the  hospital. 

"TMiat  is  the  matter,  Merlin?  What  do  you  hear?" 
asked  Dora,  anxiously,  as  she  hastened  to  his  side. 

'•Who's  that?"  asked  the  gunner,  hoarsely,  as  he 
turned  his  blood-shotten  eyes  for  a  moment  towards  her. 

"  Who  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  There  !     That  voice  —  whose  is  it  ?  " 

Dora  listened  in  her  turn,  and  soon  distinguished  a 
deep  tone  rising  above  the  confusion  of  the  place,  in  the 
wild  accents  of  delirium. 

"You  mean  that  poor  fellow  who  is  out  of  his  head 
—  don't  you  ?     There  !  the  one  Avho  is  singing  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Who  is  it?  "  fiercely  demanded  Merlin. 

"  It  is  a  poor  rebel,  who  was  dreadfully  wounded  by  a 
sabre  cut  across  his  forehead,"  said  Dora,  soothingly. 
"  He  has  been  moved  into  the  next  tent  this  morning, 
because  we  are  not  going  to  use  the  third  one  any  more 
at  present." 

"  What's  his  name  ?  "  asked  Merlin,  in  the  same  sharp 
voice. 

'"We  don't  know.  He  hadn't  anything  marked  about 
him,  and  he  hasn't  been  conscious  since  he  came  in. 
What  are  you  looking  for?     Can't  I  help  you ?  " 

"  I  want  my  clothes.  I  want  something  to  put  on 
right  away,"  returned  Merlin,  impatiently,  as  he  looked 


172  DOHA    DARLING, 

from  side  to  side,  and  pushed  the  bed-clothes  nervously 
away. 

"  But  you  mustn't ;  you  can't  be  dressed  for  a  good 
many  days  yet.  Do  lie  still,  please  do,  or  I  shall  have 
to  call  one  of  the  nurses,"  pleaded  Dora,  almost  tear- 
fully, for  the  man's  agitation  filled  her  with  dismay,  con- 
trasting, as  it  did,  with  the  perfect  apathy  he  had  hith- 
erto exhibited. 

"  But  I  must,  I  tell  you,"  persisted  he.  "  I  must 
know  what  that  felloAv's  name  is,  at  least.  Hadn't  he 
anything  about  him  with  his  name  on  it?" 

"  No,  nothing  at  all." 

"Well,  wasn't  there  anything  —  anything  else, — I 
mean  anything  that  some  of  his  folks  might  have  given 
him  —  a  picture,  or  such?"  asked  Merlin,  nervously, 
while  his  wasted  hand  still  gi'asped  the  bed-coverings,  as 
if  determined  to  throw  them  aside. 

Dora  looked  at  him  steadily,  and  turned  a  little  pale. 
"  If  you  will  lie  do^Mi  quietly,  and  let  me  cover  you  up, 
I  will  tell  you,'*  said  she,  decidedly. 

Merlin  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  sank  back  upon 
his  pillow. 

"  The  man  in  there  had  a  picture  in  his  pocket-book,  a 
photograph  of  a  young  lady,"  said  Dora,  slowly.  "  Do 
you  want  to  see  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  do ;  right  away,  as  quick  as  you 
can  get  it  I  "  exclaimed  Merlin,  imperiously. 


THE   DAUGHTER    OF   THE    REGIMEXT.  17b 

''  But  I  canuot  get  it  at  all,  or  do  anything  about  it, 
unless  you  will  promise  to  lie  perfectly  still  in  bed  here, 
and  not  even  ask  for  your  clothes  again  until  the  doctor 
says  you  may  sit  up,"  said  Dora,  decidedly. 

The  Kentuckian  muttered  an  oath,  and  tossed  himself 
over  with  his  back  to  Dora,  who  stood  looking  pityingly, 
and  yet  firmly,  at  him.  As  he  did  not  stir,  however,  she 
turned  to  the  inmate  of  the  next  bed,  and  began  to  make 
him  comfortable  for  the  day.  Presently  she  felt  her  skirt 
plucked  from  behind.  Turning  instantly,  she  found 
Merlin  again  leaning  upon  his  elbow,  and  regarding  her 
with  a  sort  of  impatient  submission  of  manner. 

"  Say,"  began  he,  as  soon  as  she  turned  towards  him, 
"  will  you  get  me  that  picture  if  I  w^on't  ask  for  my 
clothes  till  you're  ready  to  let  me  get  up  ?  " 

"  You  must  promise,  besides,  to  stay  quietly  in  your 
bed,  and  not  toss  about  so,"  stipulated  Dora. 

"  Well,  I  will." 

"You  promise?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  I  will  get  you  the  picture  as  soon  as  I  have 
done  washing  Lynn's  face.     It  won't  be  long." 

"  Plurry  up,  then,  for  mercy's  sake  !  "  entreated  the 
Kentuckian,  restraining  the  stronger  expression  that  had 
risen  to  his  lips,  out  of  deference  to  his  nurse. 

In  a  few  moments,  Dora,  having  finished  bathing  poor 
Lynn's  feverish  face,  tripped  away  to  the  other  tent, 
15* 


174  DORA    DARLING: 

where  she  knew  Mr.  Brown  was  now  to  be  found,  and 
rapidly  repeating  to  him  the  events  of  the  morning,  she 
asked  for  the  photograph,  which,  witli  other  property 
belonging  to  wounded  prisoners,  had  been  placed  under 
the  chaplain's  charge. 

"Here  it  is,  since  you  promised  it  to  him,"  said  Mr. 
Brown,  rather  reluctantly.  "  But  I  am  afraid  it  will 
lead  to  mischief." 

He  turned  away  without  explanation,  and  Dora,  slowly 
returning  to  her  patient,  wondered  what  the  chaplr'a 
could  have  meant. 

"  She  doesn't  look  as  if  she  could  do  mischief,"  thought 
the  child,  looking  at  the  photograph.  It  was  the  vignette 
of  a  beautiful  young  girl,  with  a  somewhat  timid  ex- 
pression in  her  large  eyes,  and  an  undecided  mouth. 
The  curling  hair  Avas  tied  back  from  tte  low  brow  with 
a  ribbon,  whose  ends  floated  doA\Ti  upon  the  plump 
neck. 

As  Dora  approached  Merlin's  couch,  he  eagerly  ex- 
tended his  hand.  She  placed  the  picture  in  it,  and  Avaited 
a  moment  for  some  exclamation,  or  remark,  to  show 
whether  the  face  was  the  one  he  had  prepared  himself  to 
see.  But  the  Kentuckian  uttered  neither  comment  nor 
ejaculation.  Not  even  the  lines  of  his  face  betrayed  the 
emotions  beneath  the  surface.  Lying  perfectly  motion- 
less upon  his  back,  with  the  picture  steadily  held  before 
his  eyes,  he  looked  at  it  intently  moment  after  moment, 


THE   DAUGHTER    OF    THE   REGIMENT.  175 

until  Dora  turned  to  attend  to  her  other  duties.  When 
she  returned,  some  time  afterwards,  he  had  not  moved ; 
and  when,  an  hour  later,  she  again  visited  him,  the  pic- 
ture had  disappe.'^red,  and  the  patient  slept,  or  appeared 
to  sleep. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

During-  the  rest  of  the  day  Dora  kept  a  constant  watch 
upon  the  Kentuckian,  for,  in  spite  of  his  promises,  she 
felt  an  uneasy  consciousness  that  all  was  not  as  quiet 
with  him  as  he  wished  her  to  believe. 

"When  her  hour  of  liberty  in  the  afternoon  arrived,  she 
sought  Mr.  Brown,  who  was  reading  in  liis  tent,  and  told 
him  that  she  feared  Merlin  had  some  plan  in  his  mind 
with  regard  to  the  prisoner  whose  voice  had  moved  him 
so  strangely,  and  begged  him  to  go  into  the  hospital  be- 
fore night  and  question  him.  Mr.  Brown  promised  to  do 
so,  and  then,  seeing  that  Dora  looked  pale  and  tired,  he 
bade  her  put  on  her  cloak  and  come  to  walk  with  him. 

Dora  gladly  obeyed,  and,  as  they  strolled  along  the 
mountain  side,  Mr.  Brown  began  to  talk  with  her  of  mat- 
ters that  soon  carried  her  beyond  the  present  weariness. 
Speaking  first  of  the  traces  of  fortification  that  the  pres- 
ent war  will  leave  all  over  the  land,  to  be  the  Avonder  of 
coming  generations,  he  went  back  to  the  centuries  of  the 
past,  and  told  how  in  Ohio  and  all  over  the  West  are  to 
be  found  traces  of  battles  mightier  than  ours,  of  fortifica- 
tions that  might  include  a  dozen  of  our  own,  of  relics  left 
(176) 


THE   DAUGHTER    OT    THE   IlEGIMEXT.  177 

behind  ia  the  disappearauce  of  a  mighty  people,  whose 
gi-aud  works  survive,  when  eveu  tradition  holds  no  echo 
of  the  workers'  name  or  race. 

Mr.  Brown,  who  was  a  determined  antiquary,  grew 
enthusiastic  as  he  talked,  and  Dora  listened  Avith  more 
avidity  to  this  marvellous,  true  story  than  she  had  to  the 
romantic  legends  of  Arthur  and  his  knights. 

Both  teacher  and  pupil  became  so  engrossed  as  quite 
to  forget  where  they  were,  and  the  danger  of  straying  far 
from  camp,  when,  as  they  paused  a  moment  to  look  at 
the  western  sky,  where  the  last  glory  of  the  sunset  was 
fading  away,  the  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle  rung  through  the 
stillness,  and  a  little  puff  of  smoke  rose  lazily  from  a 
dense  thicket  some  distance  below  them  in  the  valley. 
The  sharp  whistle  of  the  ball  cut  the  air,  at  the  same 
instant,  so  close  to  the  chaplain's  head,  that  he  felt  the 
slight  current  made  by  its  motion. 

''What —  O,  who  is  that?"  cried  Dora,  as  a  dark 
figure  seemed  to  spring  out  of  the  earth  a  little  distance 
from  her  side,  and  bound  forward  to  the  thicket.  "  Why, 
it's  Picter  —  isn't  it?"  added  she,  as,  even  in  the  brief 
glance  she  caught  of  the  figure,  she  noticed  the  peculiar 
motion  of  the  limbs. 

"Was  it?  But  what  is  going  on  now?  Stay  here, 
Dora,  or,  rather,  crouch  behind  this  stump,  and  keep 
close,  while  I  go  to  see  —  " 

"  But  you  haven't  any  gun,  or  anything  !  "  cried  Dora, 
holding  the  chaplain  fast. 


178  DOHA    DARLIXG: 

"  I  am  armed  ;  I  Lave  a  pistol.  Let  me  go,  child  ! 
You  must,  really.     Keep  yourself  bidden." 

As  Mr.  Brown  spoke,  he  released  himself  from  Dora's 
grasp,  and,  drawing  a  pistol  from  an  inside  pocket, 
bounded  down  the  hill. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation  the  child  followed,  and 
arrived  at  the  thicket  just  as  Mr.  Brown  stooped  over  a 
Avi'ithing  mass  of  matter,  which  might,  so  far  as  eyes 
were  to  be  trusted,  have  been  two  bears  struggling  in  a 
death  hug.  Human  voices,  however,  were  to  be  heard 
in  panting  exclamations,  oaths,  and  menaces,  but  the 
only  articulate  sounds  were  in  Picter's  gruff  tones. 

"  Take  dat,  den ! "  panted  he,  raising  high  above  his 
head  a  knife  whose  blade  gleamed  faintly  in  the  twilight. 
But  the  blow  never  fell,  for,  quick  as  thought,  his  unseen 
adversary,  releasing  his  own  right  hand  from  the  negro's 
grasp,  dashed  it  so  heavily  into  his  face  as  to  prostrate 
him  to  the  ground,  while  at  the  same  moment  he  leaped 
to  his  feet,  and  darted  into  the  forest,  pursued  by  a  ball 
from  the  chaplain's  pistol. 

Picter  slowly  rose  to  his  feet,  wiping  from  his  eyes  the 
blood  that  trickled  into  them  from  a  cut  upon  his  fore- 
head. 

"  De  ole  cuss,"  muttered  he,  "  knockin'  open  a  pus- 
son's  head  as  ef  'twor  a  mushmillion  !  Wait  till  I  cotch 
ye  agin,  mas'r,  dat's  all !  " 

"Who  was  it,  Picter?  Did  you  know  him?"  asked 
Dora,  breathlessly,  while  the  chaplain  inquired,  — 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  EEGIMENT.  179 

"  HoTv  came  you  out  here,  Picter,  so  providentially?  '* 

"0,  de  Lor',  mas'r  an'  missy,  how's  I  gwine  to  tell 
eberyting  all  to  once,  an'  all  de  extry  stars  dat  was  lef 
over  arter  de  sky  was  full,  a  dancin'  'fore  my  eyes,  an'  in 
an'  out  ob  my  pore  ole  head  dis  bressed  minute  ?  "  asked 
Picter,  with  some  asperity,  as  he  reseated  himself  upon 
the  ground. 

"Poor  Uncle  Pic!  It  is  too  bad.  Come  up  to  the 
hospital  as  quick  as  you  can,  and  I  will  do  up  your  hurt. 
Is  there  any  other  except  this  on  your  forehead  ?  " 

"  Dunno,  missy.  Don'  you  bodder  youse'f  'bout  de 
ole  nigger.     He  noffin'  but  ole  fool  arter  all." 

"  No,  you're  not,  Picter,  and  you  don't  believe  it  your- 
self," said  Dora,  laughing.  "But  come,  let  us  go 
home." 

"  Yes,  it  is  quite  time.  Our  friend  may  return  at  any 
moment,  and  his  next  aim  may  be  truer,"  said  Mr. 
Brown,  peering  sharply  into  the  forest  beyond  where 
they  were  standing. 

"He  tried  to  shoot  you  —  didn't  he?"  asked  Dora, 
anxiously. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  the  chaplain,  coolly.         -% 

"  Course  he  did.  Didn'  want  fer  touch  missy,"  mut- 
tered Picter,  who  was  now  folloAving  them  up  the  hill. 

"  But  how  came  you  do^\^l  here  all  ready  to  defend 
us  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Brown,  soothingly  ;  for  he  had  learned  to 
understand  the  poor  fellow's  crabbed  jealousy  of  all  his 


180  DOHA  DAELIXG: 

young  mistress's  new  friends,  and  liked  him  llie  better 
for  it. 

''  Wasn'  tryin'  to  'feud  no  one  but  lilly  missy,"  growled 
Picter,  "  I  seed  her  a  trabelliu'  off  down  here  long 
wid  parson,  an'  t'out  parson  had  lef '  he  gun  to  home  : 
didn'  know  he  got  lilly  gun  in  he  pocket.  Den  I  knowed 
de  rebs  kep'  a  comin'  roun'  fer  spy  out  what  we's  a  doin', 
an'  t'out  like  *uough  dey  pick:  up  missy  an'  de  parson,  an' 
carry  dey  off  'fore  dey  had  time  fer  holler.  So  I  took 
um  knife,  an'  comed  along  arter  'em.  Didn'  come  in 
sight,  fer  missy  'ouldn't  want  fer  talk  wid  stupid  ole  nig- 
ger v\^'eu  she  got  buckra  gen'leman  to  talk  wid.  So  de 
mis'able  ole  feller  he  creep  an'  crawl  long  jes'  like  de 
pore  dog  arter  he  mas'r  gib  him  lickin'  an'  tell  he  go 
'long  home.  An  w'en  missy  set  down  on  de  log,  an* 
parson  'tan'  an'  talk  'fore  her,  den  dis  nigger  lay  'till  an' 
look  at  dem,  till  de  gun  go  '  crack  '  down  here  in  de 
brush,  an'  de  ball  go  singin'  up  clost  to  missy  head. 
Tou't  fust  'twas  her  dey  was  shootin'  at,  but  now  I 
knows  it  wasn'." 

"How  do  you  know,  Picter?"  asked  Mr.  Brown, 
st|pping,  and  looking  earnestly  at  him. 

"  Can't  tell,  mas'r  parson.  On'y  I  reckon  'twor  you, 
an'  not  missy,  dey  wanted,"  said  the  negro,  doggedly. 

Arrived  at  the  camp,  Mr.  Brown  went  to  speak  to 
Merlin,  as  Dora  had  requested;  and  she  insisted  upon 
Picter's  coming  with  her  into  the  outer  hospital  tent,  now 


THE  DAUGHTER'  OF  THE  REGIMENT.  181 

left  unoccupied  by  patients,  while  she  sought  from  the 
surgeon  some  plaster  and  a  bandage  to  dress  his  wound. 

The  negro  reluctantly  obeyed,  and  Dora,  after  bathing 
the  cut,  and  applying  the  plaster,  bandaged  it  so  neatly 
and  so  tenderly,  that,  as  the  patient  emphatically  de- 
clared, it  was  "  better  dan  a  whole  head," 

"  That's  nice.  Now,  Pic,  you  had  better  go  to  bed, 
and  try  to  sleep.  I  dare  say  your  head  aches  —  doesn't 
it?  "  asked  the  little  nurse,  kindly. 

"  Not  half  so  bad  as  it  had  oughter,"  replied  Pic,  pen- 
itently. "'Clare  to  mas'r,  Missy  Dora,  it  'nough  ter 
make  a  hedgehog  'shamed  ob  hese'f,  ter  see  how  good 
you  is  ter  dis  mis'able  ole  cross-grain  nigger.  Wy 
doesn'  you  up  an  tell  him,  '  You  ole  fool,  does  you  s'pec  a 
young  madam  like  me  is  gwine  to  'sociate  wid  a  nigger? 
I's  got  Oder  fish  a  fryin'  in  my  pan  dese  times.'  But, 
'stead  o'  dat,  you's  jest  as  pleasant  an'  as  pooty  to  him 
now,  as  you  was  dem  days  in  de  cave,  an'  in  de  ole  times 
w'en  he  use  to  fix  up  swings  an'  seesaws  in  de  barn,  fer 
you  an'  mas'r  Tom." 

"  And  I  am  just  as  fond  of  you,  Picter,"  said  Dora, 
eagerly.  "  And  I  wouldn't  say  any  such  thing  as  }%i 
just  told  me  to,  for  anything.  Of  course  my  time  is 
very  much  taken  up  now,  and  you  wouldn't  want  me  to 
come  and  sit  round  in  the  kitchen  with  the  men." 

•'  Course  I  shouldn',  honey.    Wouldn'  hab  it  no  way." 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  come  and  see  me,  Pic  ;  and  I 
16 


182  DOHA  DAHLIXG: 

wish  you  would  make  it  a  rule  to  come  every  afternoon 
at  three  o'clock,  and  stay  a  few  minutes  with  me  before 
I  go  to  Mr.  Brown." 

"  T'ank  you,  missy.  S'pecs  dat  parson  mons'ous  wise 
genTman  —  isn't  he?"  asked  Pic,  with  a  little  return  of 
jealous  envy. 

"  O,  yes.  He  is  the  wisest  and  the  best  person  I  ever 
knew  or  thought  of.  You  ought  to  hear  him  talk  about 
the  Bible  and  heaven,  and  those  things.  Why  don't  you 
ask  him  to  tell  you  about  it  Pic?  He  would  in  a 
minute." 

"  He  wouldn'  want  'pend  he  time  on  ole  fool  like  dis 
yer,"  grumbled  Pic. 

"  He  wouldn't  call  you  that,  and  you  wouldn't  feel  so, 
after  you  had  talked  with  him." 

"  Should  like  'o  talk  wid  him  'bout  dem  tings  fus'  rate, 
ef  he'd  hab  de  patience,"  said  Pic,  doubtfully. 

"  O,  he  is  never  out  of  patience,  or  out  of  temper. 
Tve  tried  him  awfully,  Pm  so  ignorant,  and  he's  always 
just  so  goo(il." 

"  S'pecs  you  an'  Ps  diff'ent  sort  o'  scholars,  missy," 
said  Pic,  with  a  short  laugh ;  "  but  Pll  try  to  cotch  de 
parson  w'en  he'm  not  so  busy,  an'  ax  him — " 

"What  will  you  ask  him?  There's  no  time  like  the 
present,"  said  a  sonorous  voice  behind  them ;  and  Mr. 
Brown  smilingly  entered  the  tent. 

"O  Lor' !     Dey  say  dat  de  ole  gen'l'man  is  alluz  near 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  JREGIMEXT.  183 

when  yoii's  a  talkin'  'bout  him,"  blurted  out  Pic,  and 
then  hastily  added,  — 

"  Ax  you  pardon,  fer  sure,  mas'r ;  I  didn'  mean  ter 
call  you  de  debil." 

"  It  isn't  a  wise  thing  to  talk  much  about  that  indi- 
vidual, Picter.  You  never  can  tell  how  near  he  may  be 
to  you,"  said  the  chaplain,  with  a  sort  of  merry  gravity. 
"  But  now  you  had  better  come  with  me,  and  ask  me 
whatever  it  was  you  intended  to.  Dora,  I  advise  you  to 
go  to  your  own  quarters  now,  and  get  some  sleep." 

*'  I  jes'  want  fer  tell  missy  somefin',  mas'r,  and  den  I 
come  right  'long,"  said  Picter,  hesitatingly. 

"  Very  well.  I  will  wait  a  moment  outside.  Good 
night,  my  child." 

"  Good  night,  sir." 

Picter  waited  until  the  curtain  had  fallen  behind  the 
chaplain,  and  then,  approaching  close  to  Dora,  he  whis- 
pered, — 

"  Dat  ar'  feller  in  de  brush  wor  Dick  Wilson,  if  dis 
chile  knows  anyting." 

"  What,  my  cousin,  Dick?  " 

"  Yis,  missy.     Night,  missy 

Before  Dora  could  reply,  the  negro  was  gone. 


CHAPTEH    XX. 

Startled  by  Picter's  sudden  and  brief  communica- 
tion, Dora  remained  for  some  time  seated  Avliere  he  had 
left  her,  while  her  mind  rapidly  reviewed  the  very  little 
that  she  knew  of  her  cousin  Dick,  and  weighed  the 
probabilities  of  his  being  in  the  position  of  Mr.  Brown's 
attempted  assassin,  and  ofshis  possible  motive  in  making 
such  an  attempt. 

Wearied,  at  last,  of  useless  conjecture,  the  young  girl 
rose  to  visit  her  patients  in  the  adjoining  tents,  before 
seeking  her  own  little  nook,  which  communicated  vrith 
the  outer  hospital  tent,  where  she  now  was. 

In  the  second  tent  were  the  wounded  rebel  prisoners, 
many  of  whom  had  before  this  recovered  sufficiently  to 
be  forwarded  to  Beverly  jail,  and  from  thence  to  Colum- 
bus, where  they  were  retained  as  exchanges  for  the  fed- 
eral prisoners. 

In  one  corner  lay  the  stalwart  fellow  whose  delu'ious 
cries  in  the  morning  had  so  agitated  Merlin. 

Almost  a  giant  in  stature,  he  was  of  a  swarthy  and 
forbidding  countenance,  and  so  violent  at  times  in  his 
language  and  behavior,  that  the  surgeon  and  chaplain 
(1S4) 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMEXT.  185 

had  forbidden  Dora  attempting  to  do  anything  for 
him. 

Since  morning,  Irowever,  a  favorable  change  had  taken 
place  in  his  condition,  and  he  "svas  now  perfectly  sane 
and  quiet,  although  much  exhausted. 

As  Dora  timidly  paused  near  his  bed,  he  faintly  asked 
for  some  water.  She  gave  it  him  at  once,  saying  kindly, 
as  she  held  the  cup  to  his  lips,  — 

"  You  feel  better,  now  —  don't  you?  " 

"  Yes.     I  reckon  I've  been  pretty  sick." 

"  Yes,  very  sick.  You  have  not  had  your  senses  at 
all  since  you  were  wounded." 

"  What  sort  of  a  wound  is  it  ?  " 

"  A  cut  on  your  head  from  a  sabre  bayonet,  the  doc- 
tor said." 

"  I  was  in  the  ambush,"  murmured  the  man,  dreamily. 

"  I'm  glad  you  are  better.  You'd  better  go  to  sleep 
now,"  said  Dora,  moving  away. 

"  Hold  on  a  minute.  Be  you  a  Yankee,  or  do  you 
belong  round  here  ?  " 

"  Neither.  I  was  born  in  Virginia,  but  I  belong  to  a 
federal  regiment.  I'm  the  vivandiere^^*  said  Dora,  in- 
wardly hoping  her  hearer  would  not  suspect  how  proud 
she  felt  of  the  rank.  "What  is  your  name?  We  don't 
know  what  to  call  you,"  continued  she,  timidly,  as  the 
man  lay  staring  at  her  with  his  bold  black  eyes. 

"My  name's  Judson,  —  Bob  Judson,  —  and  I  ain't 
16* 


186  DORA   DARLING: 

ashamed  to  tell  it  to  any  one,"  said  the  rebel,  half  defi- 
antly. 

"  I'm  glad  of  it.  Good  night,"  retm-ned  Dora,  has- 
tily, as  she  moved  away. 

A  few  moments  later,  she  found  herself  beside  Mer- 
lin's bed.  He  was  lying  broad  awake,  and  apparently 
perfectly  quiet ;  but  his  cheeks  had  a  feverish  glow  upon 
them,  and  his  eyes  a  glitter,  ominous  to  the  young 
nurse. 

"  You  are  not  so  well  to-night,"  said  she,  laying  her 
hand  upon  his  forehead.  "  You  are  feverish.  I  will 
bathe  your  face,  and  give  you  some  of  the  drops  to  make 
you  sleep  —  shan't  I  ?  " 

•'  No  ;  I  don't  want  anything  at  all,  miss.  I  shall 
go  to  sleep  as  soon  as  it's  quiet  here,"  said  the  young 
man,  briefly. 

Dora  looked  at  him  again.  She  noticed  that  one  hand 
was  beneath  his   pillow,   as  if  conoealing    something. 

"  It's  the  picture,"  thought  she,  "  and  the  other  man 
will  be  asking  for  it  soon.     I  must  get  it." 

But  a  second  thought  suggested  that  it  would  be  cruel 
and  unwise  to  deprive  Merlin  of  what  he  appeared  to 
value  so  much,  at  this  particular  time,  when  a  disturb- 
ance or  disappointment  might  break  up  his  whole  night's 
rest,  and  seriously  injure  his  health.  She  therefore 
resolved  to  let  the  picture  remain  till  morning,  and  with 
a  kind  good  night,  left  her  patient  to  himself. 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF   THE  REGIMENT.  187 

Retiring  to  her  OYm  tent,  Dora  dropped  the  curtain, 
undressed,  and  after  repeating  lier  prayers  as  simply  and 
innocently  as  she  had  been  wont  to  do  at  her  mother's 
knee,  she  composed  herself  to  sleep. 

But,  ahhough  tired  both  in  body  and  mind,  she  could 
not  rest.  No  sooner  was  she  in  quiet  and  darkness,  than 
fancy  surrounded  her  with  vague  shapes  of  harm,  and 
whispered  still  vaguer  warnings  of  danger  to  herself  or 
others  close  at  hand.  She  thought  again  of  Dick,  and 
wearied  herself  with  conjectures  as  to  his  intentions 
towards  her  and  the  chaplain,  until  at  last  she  almost 
fancied  he  was  concealed  in  the  very  camp,  and  might  at 
any  moment  start  up  beside  her  bed,  ready  to  murder 
her  as  she  lay,  or  drag  her  back  a  prisoner  to  his  moth- 
er's home. 

Reasoning  herself  out  of  these  idle  terrors,  Dora  next 
thought  of  Merlin,  and  his  animosity  to  the  rebel  named 
Judson ;  and  she  soon  convinced  herself  that  this,  al- 
though concealed,  was  quite  as  vehement  now  as  in  the 
morning,  when  it  had  been  so  plainly  shown. 

As  these  fears  and  doubts  pressed  upon  her  mind, 
Dora  became  more  and  more  uneasy,  until  at  last  she 
noiselessly  rose  from  her  bed,  slipped  on  a  part  of  her 
clothing,  stole  softly  out  of  her  little  cell  across  the  empty 
outer  tent  of  the  hospital,  and  slightly  di'awing  away  the 
curtain  between  it  and  the  second  apartment,  peeped  in. 

All  was  quiet,  and  by  the  feeble  light  of  the  night 


188  DORA   DARLIXGt 

taper,  Dora  could  see  that  Judson  was  sleeping  calmly 
in  the  corner,  with  his  left  arm  thrown  up  above  his 
swarthy  face. 

The  patients  were  all  so  comfortable  now,  that  only 
one  attendant  was  thought  necessary  for  both  rooms 
during  the  night,  and  he  was  at  present  in  the  inner  one. 
The  curtains  were  lowered  between  the  two  tents,  and 
Dora,  moving  as  noiselessly  as  a  spirit,  passed  through 
the  second,  and  peeped  within  the  third.  At  the  upper 
end  sat  the  nurse  soundly  sleepmg,  with  his  head  upon 
the  table,  where  burned  the  night  lamp.  The  sick  men 
were  all  quiet,  and  Merlin  lay  apparently  in  a  heavy 
sleep. 

Dora  stood  silently  beside  the  nurse,  with  intent  to 
wake  him  ;  but  as  she  heard  his  deep  breathing,  and  saw 
how  soundly  he  slept,  her  purpose  changed. 

"  I  am  not  sleepy,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  and  he  is, 
poor  fellow  !  I  will  sit  here  a  little  while,  and  not  wake 
him  until  I  am  ready  to  go  to  bed  again." 

So  Dora  seated  herself  upon  a  box  in  the  corner,  and 
leaning  back  against  a  bale  of  blankets,  began  her  lonely 
watch.  For  nearly  an  hour  her  senses  remained  as  alert 
as  at  the  first ;  but  then  her  eyelids  began  to  droop  ;  her 
head  rested  against  the  comfortable  cushion  behind  it ; 
the  silent  and  dimly  lighted  tent,  with  its  rows  of  sleep- 
ing patients,  grew  indistinct  and  confused  to  her  sight ; 
and  Dora  slept. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  JiEGnfEXT.  189 

Not  for  long,  however.  Of  a  sudden,  a  thrill  shot 
through  her  frame,  an  indistinct  horror  seized  upon  her 
even  through  her  slumber,  and  while  suddenly  arousing 
her  mind  to  its  full  consciousness,  laid  a  paralyzing 
hand  upon  her  bodily  senses. 

Through  her  half-opened  eyelids  she  saw  again  the 
tent,  the  sleepers,  the  nurse,  still  sleeping  heavily  with 
the  taper  burning  dimly  beside  him.  She  saw  the  cov- 
ering of  one  bed  thrown  aside,  and  a  man's  figure  cau- 
tiously arising  from  it.  This  man  was  Merlin  ;  and  Dora 
watched  as  in  a  dream,  while  with  slow,  deliberate 
movement  he  rose  upright,  steadied  himself  a  moment  on 
his  feet,  as  if  to  try  his  strength,  glanced  keenly  at  her 
and  at  the  nurse,  and  then  drew  from  under  his  pillow  a 
long  bright  knife,  or  dirk. 

Still  as  in  a  dream,  Dora  remembered  that  this  knife 
had  formed  part  of  the  Kentuckian's  accoutrements  re- 
moved when  he  was  placed  in  bed  the  morning  after  the 
battle,  and  she  dimly  wondered  how  he  had  regained 
possession  of  it. 

After  a  cautious  pause,  the  gaunt  figure  began  to  move 
silently  and  swiftly  across  the  tent  to  wdiere  the  curtain, 
still  looped  aside,  showed  the  interior  of  the  second  tent, 
Avith  the  corner  bed  full  in  sight,  where  lay  the  stalwart 
figure  of  the  wounded  rebel  as  Dora  had  last  seen  him, 
his  left  arm  thrown  above  his  head,  and  his  face  up- 
tui-ned. 


190  nORA  DARLING: 

Noiselessly  as  a  panther  the  ghost-like  figure  of  the 
Kentuckian  crept  towards  this  corner,  and,  as  he  moved, 
Dora  caught  the  glancing  rays  of  pale  light  reflected  from 
the  blade  in  his  hand. 

The  nurse  beside  her  stirred  in  his  sleep,  muttered  a 
few  words,  and  heavily  turned  his  head. 

The  gliding  figure  in  the  next  room  paused,  looked 
uneasily  over  his  shoulder,  at  the  same  time  thrusting 
the  kuifi3  into  his  bosom.  But  the  break  in  the  nurse's 
dream  was  slight,  and  he  presently  slept  again,  as 
soundly  as  before.  Assured  of  this,  Merlin  crept  noise- 
lessly forward ;  and  now  he  stood  beside  his  rival's  bed, 
stooping  low  to  scan  his  features,  while  his  right  hand 
stealthily  emerged  from  his  bosom,  and  again  the  yellow 
lio;ht  jrlanced  shiverino:lv  off  the  blade. 

With  a  cautious  movement  the  assassin  drew  down 
the  bed  covering,  and  lightly  placed  his  left  hand  upon 
the  breast  of  the  sleeping  man,  as  if  to  discover  the 
exact  position  of  the  heart,  while  the  knife  slowly  rose 
to  the  level  of  his  head. 

But  at  this  awful  sight  —  at  this  crisis  in  the  history 
of  two  men,  both  of  whose  lives  hung  upon  the  event 
of  the  next  moment  —  the  frozen  trance  that  had  held 
Dora  enchained  suddenly  dissolved.  "With  a  mighty 
effort  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  rushed  through  the  two 
tents,  and  as  Merlin,  startled  by  the  light  sound  of  her 
approach,  turned  his  head,  she  seized  his  uplifted  arm  in 
both  her  hands,  and  steadily  confronted  him. 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMEXT.  191 

For  a  moment  the  man  glared  angrily  at  this  child 
who  dared  to  throw  herself  between  him  and  his  purpose, 
and  struggled  impatiently  with  her  clinging  grasp.  But, 
as  his  eyes  met  those  true  and  steady  ones,  fixed  in  re- 
proachful horror  upon  him,  his  own  wavered  and  fell, 
the  uplifted  arm  sank  to  his  side,  and  his  mouth  lost  the 
Lard,  fierce  curve  it  had  held. 

Then  Dora,  feeling  her  power  without  reasoning  upon 
it,  said,  in  a  low  voice,  — 

"  Give  me  the  knife.  Merlin." 

After  an  instant's  hesitation,  the  man  obeyed.  Throw- 
ing it  upon  the  bed  behind  them,  the  girl  motioned  for- 
ward, and,  still  clinging  to  his  arm,  led  her  captive  to 
the  division  curtain,  and,  pointing  to  his  bed,  whis- 
pered, — 

"  Go  and  lie  down  before  the  nurse  wakes." 

Without  reply.  Merlin  did  as  he  was  bid  ;  and  Dora, 
after  returning  to  secure  the  knife,  roused  the  nurse, 
telling  him  that  she  had  kept  watch  for  him  through  the 
last  two  hours,  and  now  was  going  to  her  own  quar- 
ters. 

The  man,  mortified  at  this  mild  reproof,  was  profuse 
in  apologies,  and  was  so  evidently  determined  to  keep 
himself  awake  during  the  rest  of  his  watch,  that  Dora 
felt  quite  safe  in  leaving  matters  under  his  charge. 

As  she  passed  out  of  the  tent.  Merlin  called  to  her, 
appealingly,  to  speak  with  him  a  moment ;    but  Dora 


192  DORA  DARLIXG. 

only  shook  her  head  in  reply.  A  natural  horror  of  the 
contemplated  deed,  and  of  the  man  himself,  had  already 
replaced  the  calm  courage  that  liad  enabled  her  to  con- 
front him,  and  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  could  never  be 
■svilling  to  approach  him  again. 

In  the  second  tent  she  paused  a  moment  to  replace  the 
covering  over  Judson's  broad  breast,  Avondering,  as  she 
did  so,  if  no  ugly  dream,  no  dim  horror,  such  as  had 
assailed  herself,  had  waked  in  this  man's  mind,  to  warn 
him  of  the  horrible  danger  that  had  so  closely  overshad- 
owed him. 

But  Dora's  light  touch  effected  what  the  hand  of  the 
murderer  had  not ;  and  as  she  drew  the  blanket  around 
his  shoulders,  the  man  stirred,  opened  his  Avide  black 
eyes,  and,  -svith  a  pleasant  smile,  murmured, — 

"  I'm  coming,  Nelly,"  and  then  dropped  asleep  again. 

Dora,  creeping  away  to  her  own  little  bed,  wondered 
if  Nelly  was  the  original  of  the  photograph  so  valued  by 
both  these  men,  and  also  what  Nelly  would  have  said 
and  thought,  could  she  have  known  the  events  of  ihe  last 
hour ;  and  then,  utterly  exhausted  by  fatigue,  agitation, 
and  anxiety,  she  threw  herself  upon  her  bed,  and  slept 
heavily  through  the  few  remaining  hours  of  night. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

The  next  morning,  when  Dora  awoke  with  an  aching 
head  and  heavy  eyes,  she  recalled  the  occurrences  of  the 
past  night  as  a  horrible  dream,  and  smiled  at  the  feeling  of 
terror  that  had  accompanied  her  first  moment  of  conscious- 
ness ;  but  the  smile  vanished  when,  as  she  sprang  to  her 
feet,  the  long  dirk  dropped  from  her  dress,  and  fell  rat- 
tling to  the  floor.  Sinking  upon  the  edge  of  the  bed, 
Dora  fixed  hci-  eyes  upon  it,  and  gradually  recalled  the 
Avhole  chain  of  events  connected  with  it. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  go  at  once  to  Mr.  Brown,  and 
tell  him  the  story,  relying  upon  his  judgment  to  do  what- 
ever should  be  best  for  both  men  ;  but  when,  after  a  hasty 
toilet,  the  young  nurse  looked  for  a  moment  into  the  hos- 
pital before  going  out,  she  found  so  many  matters  await- 
ing her  attention,  that  she  was  unable  to  get  away  until 
after  the  hour  when  she  knew  the  chaplain  would  be  en- 
gaged in  his  own  duties :  she  was,  therefore,  obliged  to 
defer  seeing  him  in  private  until  evening ;  for,  although 
he  regularly  came  into  the  hospital  at  a  stated  hour  both 
morning  and  afternoon,  there  would  then  be  no  oppor- 
tunity for  conversation. 

17  (193) 


194  DORA   DAELIXG: 

When  Dora,  in  her  rounds,  found  herself  approaching 
Merlin's  bed,  she  hesitated,  and  shrank  back.  The  eyes 
of  the  sick  man  caught  the  movement,  and  a  deep  flush 
of  mortification  covered  his  face,  while  lie  humbly  said, — 

"  Good  morning.  Miss  Dora." 

"  Good  morning.  Merlin.  Can  I  do  anything  for  you 
this  morning?"  replied  Dora,  coldly,  and  without  her 
usual  smile. 

"If  it  isn't  too  much  trouble,  would  you  bathe  my 
head  and  face  a  little  ;  I  feel  pretty  hot,"  said  the  man, 
in  an  apologetic  sort  of  way. 

"  Yes,  I  will  come  in  a  moment,"  returned  Dora,  read- 
ily, although  in  the  same  constrained  manner. 

From  the  outer  room  she  brought  some  warm  water, 
mixed  with  spirit,  and  applied  herself  to  the  task  before 
her,  gently  and  carefully,  but  in  perfect  silence. 

Presently  Merlin  said,  softly,  — 

"  I  want,  ever  so  much,  to  tell  you  sometliing.  Miss 
Dora.     Can  I?" 

"  Yes,  if  it  will  be  of  any  use  to  you,"  said  Dora,  hes- 
itatingly ;  for  she  had  just  done  the  bathing,  and  was 
longing  to  get  away. 

"Can  any  one  hear,  do  you  suppose?" 

"  No  ;  this  next  bed  is  empty,  and  Bobbins  is  fast 
asleep.     No  one  can  hear,  if  you  speak  low." 

"  If  you  will  comb  my  hair  while  I  talk,  they  won*t 
think  strange  of  your  stopping  so  long  with  me,"  sug- 
gested Merlin. 


THE   DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  195 

"  Well,  I  will  comb  your  hair  ;  but  I  can't  stop  a  gi-eat 
while,  for  I  haven't  been  all  round  yet ;  and  when  I  have, 
I  am  going  to  read  to  Sherman  and  Phillips  a  little 
while." 

*'  I'll  try  not  to  be  long ;  but  I  do  want  to  tell  you 
about  it.  Miss  Dora,  for  I  can't  bear  you  should  think  I 
am  such  a  villain  as  I'm  afraid  you  do." 

He  paused  and  looked  up,  but  Dora  averted  her  eyes, 
and  made  no  answer  to  his  appealing  tone. 

Merlin  sighed  heavily,  and  went  on  in  a  low  voice  :  — 

"  Rob  Judson  and  me  are  neighbor's  sons,  and  was 
both  raised  on  the  banks  of  the  Kentucky  River,  two  or 
three  hundred  miles  west  of  here.  We  played  together 
when  we  was  boys,  and  when  we  got  older  we  went 
shooting  and  rowing  in  one  another's  company,  and  was 
great  friends,  as  young  men's  friendships  go.  By  and  by 
he  went  off  to  New  Orleans  with  a  load  of  cotton  for  his 
father,  and  stopped  there  two  or  three  years  trading, 
and  one  thing  and  another.  When  his  father  died,  he 
came  home  and  took  the  place,  being  the  only  child  they 
had. 

"  By  this  time  my  sister  Susan,  that  was  a  little  girl 
when  Rob  went  away,  had  got  grown  up  into  as  pretty  a 
young  woman  as  was  in  them  parts,  though  she  was  al- 
ways kind  of  slender  and  delicate.  Well,  Rob  and  she 
took  a  great  fancy  to  one  another,  and  was  always  walk- 
ing, or  riding,  or  going  out  on  the  river,  and  keeping 


196  DOHA   DARLING: 

company  some  way.  Our  folks  liked  it  Avell  enough,  and 
he  hadn't  any  one  to  object ;  so  they  called  themselves 
engaged,  and  Sue  began  to  get  ready  to  be  married. 

"  Just  at  this  time  a  sister  of  mother's  died,  and  left 
one  girl  —  all  the  child  she  had  —  to  our  care.  She  had 
been  living  in  Massachusetts,  and  it  was  from  there  that 
Nelly  wrote,  and  said  that  her  mother  was  gone,  and  had 
left  a  letter  for  my  mother,  which  she  sent  along  with 
her  own. 

"  Mother  said,  right  off,  that  she  must  come  and  live 
with  her,  and  be  a.  child  to  her  in  the  room  of  Sue  when 
she  got  married.  Father  hadn't  no  objections  to  make, 
and,  of  course,  I  hadn't ;  so  I  was  sent  off  to  fetch  her. 
I  stopped  a  little  while  in  Andover,  when  I  got  there, 
along  with  the  folks  where  Nelly  was,  so  that  before  we 
begun  our  travels  we  had  got  real  well  acquainted,  and 
before  we  got  to  Kentucky  I  was  regularly  smashed  with 
her,  and  she  seemed  to  like  me  about  first  rate. 

"  After  we  got  home  I  couldn't  do  anything  but  just 
hang  round  after  Nelly,  and  was  a  good  deal  more  atten- 
tive to  her  than  Rob  was  to  Sue  all  along.  The  old  folks 
laughed  some,  and  Sue  and  my  younger  brother  were  al- 
ways poking  fun  at  us  ;  but  we  didn't  care.  I  had  got 
Nelly  to  say  she'd  have  me  when  her  year's  mourning  for 
her  mother  was  out,  and  my  father  had  agreed  to  make 
over  a  part  of  the  farm  to  me,  and  let  me  carry  on  the  rest 
for  him  :  aiid  so  we  was  all  fixed  comfortable  —  at  least 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  197 

it  seemed  so  ;   but  -\ve  wasn't  loug  in  finding  out  that 
trouble  hadn't  died  out. 

"  In  the  first  place,  we  lost  mother ;  and  that  was  a 
hard  matter  to  pull  through  for  all  of  us.  Then  Sue  said 
she  wouldn't  be  married  for  a  year  from  the  day  she 
buried  her  mother,  any  how ;  and  so  it  was  concluded 
that  my  wedding  should  be  put  off  too,  and  all  of  us  be 
married  the  same  day,  and  till  then  the  two  girls  would 
keep  house  together. 

"  Just  after  this  I  was  called  to  Cincinnati  on  business, 
and  stopped  there  some  mouths,  making  arrangements  for 
my  farming  operations,  and  seeing  to  affairs  generally. 
This  was  only  a  year  ago,  or  less,  and  the  folks  in  Cin- 
cinnati was  all  up  about  the  war.  I  went  to  all  the  meet- 
ings, and  got  quite  wrought  up  about  it,  and  was  more 
than  three  quarters  of  a  mind~to  enlist  and  fight  for  the 
good  old  Union  that  had  kept  me  and  mine  in  peace  and 
plenty  ever  since  old  Peter  Merlin  followed  on  after 
Boone,  and  settled  in  Kentucky.  But  when  I  was  all 
ready  to  put  down  my  name,  I'd  think  of  Nelly,  and  if  I 
should  get  killed  before  my  three  years  was  out,  what 
would  she  do  then?  So,  after  a  while,  I  concluded  to  go 
home,  and  talk  the  matter  over  with  her  and  the  folks.  I 
hadn't  said  anything  about  it  in  my  letters  ;  in  fact  I 
hadn't  Avritten  many  letters  about  anything,  nor  Nelly 
hadn't  written  often  to  me.  But  neither  of  us  were  very 
good  at  it ;  so  I  didn't  think  strange  of  it. 
17* 


198  DORA  DABLIXG: 

"  TTell,  I  got  home,  quite  unexpected,  late  in  the  af- 
ternoon of  a  first-rate  October  day,  and  ran  into  the  house 
all  ready  to  hug  and  kiss  both  the  girls,  and  old  dad,  too, 
for  that  matter.  But  there  wer'n't  no  one  in  the  lower 
part  of  the  house,  and  so  I  went  up  stairs.  The  door  of 
Sue's  chamber  was  locked,  and,  even  when  I  told  who  it 
was,  she  was  some  time  in  opening  it.  The  first  look  1 
got  at  her  I  saw  she'd  been  crying.  I  gave  her  a  good 
hug  and  kiss,  and  then  I  asked  where  was  Nelly. 

"  'Out  walking  ^\'ith  Rob,'  says  Sue. 

"  '  And  why  didn't  you  go  too  ?  ' 

"  '  Cause  they  didn't  w^ant  me,'  says  she,  choking  do^NTi 
another  crying  fit. 

"  Well,  I  thought  these  was  curious  kind  of  proceed- 
ings ;  but  I  didn't  mean  to  get  mad  for  nothing  ;  so  I  kind 
of  pooh,  poohed  at  Sue  for  being  jealous,  and  talked  about 
other  matters,  reckoning  that  if  there  was  any  trouble  in 
the  Avind  I  shouldn't  be  long  of  finding  it  out. 

"After  a  while  Rob  and  Xellie  came  back.  They  said 
they  was  mighty  glad  to  see  me  home,  and  said  I'd  ought 
to  have  let  them  know  I  was  coming,  so's  they  might 
have  stopped  to  home  and  seen  me. 

"  I  was  as  pleasant  and  chatty  as  they  was,  and  any 
one  would  have  thought  all  was  going  first  rate  amongst 
us  ;  but  I  knew  well  enough  that  all  Sue's  laugh  and  talk 
was  made  up,  and  that  she  rather,  by  half,  have  a  good 
cry  than  to  speak  a  word ;  and  I  couldn't  but  feel  as  if 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  199 

Rob  and  Nelly  were  kiud  of  flustered  and  conscious 
when  they  first  saw  me,  and  liad  been  trying  ever  since 
to  pull  the  wool  over  my  eyes  with  their  pretty  speeches. 

"  Then,  as  for  myself,  I  didn't  naturally  feel  very 
sprightly  when  I  had  all  these  ideas  working  in  my  head, 
though  I  wasn't  going  to  let  any  of  'em  see  how  'twas 
with  me. 

"After  a  while  father  come  in,  and  set  down,  and  I 
begun  to  talk  about  the  war  with  him  ;  but  I  soon  found 
I'd  got  the  wrong  pig  by  the  ear.  The  old  man  was  a 
out  and  out  secesh ;  and  when  I  said  something  about 
enlisting  on  the  Union  side,  he  swore  the  Avorst  kind  that 
if  I  did  he'd  never  see  my  face  again. 

"  Then  Rob  he  come  over  to  where  w^e  was  settins:, 
and  father  and  he  begun  to  talk  a  way  that  riz  my  dan- 
der right  up.  I  hadn't  never  thought  nor  cared  much 
about  such  things  till  I  heard  so  much  of  them  in  Cincin- 
nati, and  so  I  didn't  really  know  how  father  was  likely 
to  go  when  it  come  to  the  pinch  ;  and  as  for  Rob,  though 
he  used  to  talk  rather  on  the  Southern  side,  I  had  no 
idea  he  was  goiog  to  be  so  bitter  about  it  as  he  come 
out  now. 

"  Well,  we  all  got  pretty  well  heat  up  in  the  argoo- 
ment ;  but  we  didn't  come  to  no  conclusion,  and  Rob 
went  off  home. 

"  I  wanted  to  set  up  a  while,  and  have  a  chat  with 
Nelly ;  but  she  slipped  off  along  with  Sue,  and  I  went  to 


200  DORA  DARLING: 

bed  a  good  deal  less  chipper  than  I  had  felt  coming 
home. 

"After  this,  for  a- week  or  tAvo  I  staid  round,  not 
saying  a  great  deal  to  any  one,  but  keeping  up  a  great 
thinking.  I  watched  Eob  and  Nelly  close  enough  ;  but 
they  didn't  see  that  I  did,  and  after  a  while  they  began 
to  show  out  pretty  plain.  "Wlienever  they  could,  they'd 
slip  and  sly  round,  and  get  together  for  a  walk  or  a  row, 
or  to  set  round  in  the  garden  and  on  the  river  bank. 
Then  they'd  try  to  brass  it  out  that  they'd  met  by  acci- 
dent ;  but  any  fool  could  see  how  it  really  was. 

"  Still  I  didn't  say  anything,  but  lay  low,  and  kept 
dark,  watching  for  what  would  come  next.  All  this 
time,  while  they  were  getting  careless,  and  I  was  getting 
mad,  poor  little  Sue  was  just  breaking  her  heart  in  her 
own  quiet  way.  She  wasn't  never  a  rugged  body,  and 
mother  had  ahvays  took  care  of  her  most  as  if  she  was  a 
baby  ;  and  after  mother  died,  the  girl  seemed  for  a  while 
as  if  she'd  die  too  of  fretting  after  her.  But  then  she 
took  to  Rob  kinder  than  ever,  and  seemed  to  feel  as  if  he 
v/as  going  to  be  father  and  mother,  and  husband  and 
all,  to  her.  But  now  —  well,  when  I  looked  at  her  pale 
face  and  great,  shiny  eyes,  and  heard  her  sigh,  and  saw 
her  put  her  hand  over  her  heart,  as  she  looked  after  her 
lover  and  my  girl  walking  off  together,  it  would  seem 
to  me  as  if  I  could  draw  a  bead  on  that  fellow  with  a 
good  will. 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMEXT.  201 

*'  At  last  there  came  a  day  that  settled  up  matters  for 
all  hands  of  us,  except  the  reckoning  between  Judsou 
and  me  ;    that's  to  come  yet. 

"  Father  had  got  to  go  to  Lancaster  to  court,  and 
calculated  to  be  away  all  night.  I  advised  Sue  to  go 
along  with  him  for  the  change,  and  to  freshen  her  np  a 
bit.  Nelly  thought,  too,  that  she'd  better  go,  and  told 
her  she'd  have  a  chance  to  buy  some  of  her  weddino-  fix- 
ings. To  that  Sue  didn't  say  a  word  ;  but  she  looked  in 
Nelly's  face  till  I  thought  the  girl's  cheeks  would  have 
blazed  right  out.  She  didn't  say  no  more,  but  went  up 
to  her  own  room,  and  I  guess  took  her  turn  at  crying  a 
spell.  As  for  Sue,  she  only  sighed  in  that  broken-hearted 
fashion,  as  she  looked  after  her,  and  then  said,  — 

"'I  needn't  go  to  Lancaster  to  be  out  of  the  way, 
Harry.     They  don't  mind  where  I  am.' 

*'  I  made  as  if  I  didn't  take  her  meaning,  and  lauo-hed 
at  her  feeling  in  any  one's  way  because  she  was  poorly ; 
but  I  still  urged  her  to  go  to  Lancaster,  till  finally  she 
agreed,  and  before  noon  father  and  she  set  off.  After  din- 
ner, I  took  my  gun,  and  said  I  was  going  out  to  look  for 
partridges.  Nelly  didn't  say  much  ;  but  I  knew,  by  her 
looks,  it  suited  her  plans  to  have  me  go  ;  and  when  she 
asked  me,  kind  of  careless,  which  way  I  was  going,  I 
told  her  right  directly  contrary  to  the  way  I  really  meant 
to  take. 

"  I  walked  away  as  brisk  as  could  be,  for  I  knew  she'd 


202  DORA  DARLING: 

be  a  watching ;  but  as  soon  as  I'd  got  well  out  of  sight 
in  the  woods,  I  took  the  back  track,  and  got  round  close 
to  the  house  again,  though  not  the  side  I  had  started 
from.  When  I'd  got  a  good  stand,  I  fixed  myself  in  a 
tree  to  watch  for  the  game  that  I  thought  Avould  be  along. 

"  Sure  enough,  in  about  half  an  hour,  I  see  Rob  Jud- 
son  riding  up  to  the  door  as  bold  as  brass,  and  sending 
his  horse  round  to  the  stable.  He  went  into  the  house, 
and  staid  so  long  that  I  began  to  be  afraid  he'd  do  all 
his  courting  there,  and  I  shouldn't  have  a  chance  to  say 
the  little  word  I  wanted  to  in  the  matter. 

"  But,  after  a  spell,  I  see  them  come  out,  and  stroll 
round  the  garden  a  few  minutes,  and  then  they  headed 
for  the  woods,  right  exactly  at  the  spot  where  I  w^as 
waiting  for  'em.  They  walked  very  slow,  and  as  soon 
as  they  was  well  in  the  woods,  they  set  down  to  have  a 
good  cosy  chat.  As  luck  would  have  it,  they  chose  a 
tree  right  next  to  the  one  where  I  was  roosting,  and  I 
could  hear  every  word  they  said. 

"  It  wan't  very  nice  kind  of  talk  for  me  to  listen  to, 
nor  it  ain't  the  kind  I'd  want  to  tell  over  to  you.  Miss 
Dora ;  but  it  let  me  into  the  whole  state  of  matters 
between  them  two,  and  that  was  what  I  wanted  to  find 
out.  I  listened  till  I  was  fairly  sick  at  my  stomach,  and 
then  I  just  let  myself  down,  with  my  gun  in  my  hand, 
and  stood  afore  'em. 

"  Xell  screeched  and  turned  as  white  as  a  sheet,  and 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  203 

Rob  looked  as  if  he  didn't  feel  overly  comfortable,  'spe- 
cially when  he  looked  at  my  rifle,  and  thouglit  of  his  own 
three  miles  off  at  home. 

"  I  looked  at  'em  both  a  spell,  and  then  I  says,  with- 
out any  bluster,  — 

'•'  '  I  hain't  got  any  remarks  to  make  to  neither  one  of 
you.  All  I  want  to  know  is,  how  soon  you  can  marry 
this  girl,  Rob  Judson,  and  take  her  out  of  the  house 
where  my  sister  lives.' 

"  The  fellow  scowled,  and  he  twisted,  and  he  tried  to 
laugh  ;  and  at  last  he  sort  of  mumbled  out  that  he  didn't 
know  as  he  had  ever  said  anything  about  marrying  of 
her.     He  thought  I  calculated  to  do  that. 

"  That  sort  of  talk  riz  my  temper  right  up.  I  didn't 
make  any  bluster,  though.  I  felt  too  bad  for  that.  I 
just  put  a  new  cap  on  my  rifle,  and  struck  the  ramrod 
down  on  the  bullet  I'd  put  in  when  I  started.  Rob 
watched  me  as  a  trapped  wolf  watches  the  hunter  that's 
loading  for  a  shot  at  him  ;  but  he  didn't  speak,  and 
when  I'd  got  through,  I  just  says  quietly, — 

" '  Robert  Judson,  that  girl  is  my  cousin,  and,  what- 
ever tricks  she's  played  on  me,  I  ain't  going  to  see  any 
man  make  a  fool  of  her.  You  take  this  here  piece  of 
paper  and  pencil,  and  Avrite  down  a  promise  to  marry 
her  and  take  her  home  just  as  soon  as  the  matter  can  be 
fixed.  Then  you  sign  your  name,  and  swear  to  keep  it 
fair  and  square.     Come,  I'm  a  waiting.' 


204  DORA  DARLING: 

"  '  And  s'pose  I  won't  do  it? '  says  lie,  a  trying  to  gQ{ 
up  a  little  spunk. 

"Then  just  as  sure  as  God's  in  heaven  I'll  put  this 
bullet  through  your  head  before  you're  a  minute  older," 
says  I,  calm  and  still,  and  tapping  on  my  rifle.  Rob  he 
looked  at  me  a  minute,  and  I  reckon  he  see  that  I  meant 
just  what  I  said,  for,  after  shifting  round  a  little  and 
looking  all  sorts  of  ways,  he  blurts  out,  — 

"  '^Vell,  give  us  the  paper.' 

"  I  tossed  him  a  letter  that  I  had  in  my  pocket,  and  a 
pencil,  and  then  I  said  over  what  he  was  to  write  down, 
and  see  him  sign  it.  Then  I  made  him  repeat  an  oath 
that  would  make  your  hair  stand  on  end  if  I  Avas  to  tell 
it  to  you,  that  he'd  keep  to  his  agreement,  and  I  put  the 
paper  back  in  my  pocket. 

"  '  Now,'  says  I,  '  go  back  to  the  house,  and  get  your 
horse  about  the  quickest ;  and  don't  you  never  show  your 
face  there  but  once  more,  and  that'll  be  when  you  come 
after  this  girl.  That  needn't  be  three  days  from  now. 
As  for  you,  Nell,  I'll  let  you  stop  in  the  house  till  then, 
for  the  sake  of  your  mother,  that  was  sister  to  my  mother  ; 
but  don't  you  speak  one  single  word  to  Sue,  if  you  know 
what's  good  for  yourself.  You're  not  fit  company  for 
her,  and  you've  done  her  harm  enough  already.  I  hope 
you  feel  as  if  you'd  made  a  good  return  for  the  way  she 
and  her  mother  have  always  treated  you.  But  I  ain't 
going  to  twit,  and  I  shan't  never  speak  about  this  again 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE   REGIMEXT.  205 

to  you  nor  no  oue  else.  If  you  two  hold  your  own 
tongues,  there's  no  need  of  any  one  but  us  three  know- 
ing that  I  had  to  help  you  to  a  husband  with  my  rifle.' 

"  I  had  turned  away  when  I  got  through  speaking, 
and  was  walking  off,  when  I  heard  a  kind  of  a  rush  ;  and 
first  I  knew  there  w^as  Nelly  on  the  ground  at  my  feet, 
a  clinging  round  my  knees  and  sobbing  so's  she  couldn't 
hardly  speak.  I  reckoned  she  felt  ashamed  of  herself, 
and  kind  of  cut  by  my  ha'sli  words  ;  and  so  I  says,  in  a 
softer  sort  of  way,  — 

"  '  Get  up,  Nell.  I  won't  say  no  more  ;  and  bimeby, 
like  enough,  I  shan't  feel  so  bad  as  I  do  now.' 

"  '  But  I  don't  want  to  marry  him,'  says  she,  most 
choking  with  her  sobs.  '  You're  twice  the  man  that  he  is, 
and  I  think  more  of  you  every  way.  I  won't  have  a 
feller  that  is  scared  into  taking  me.  I  like  you,  Harry, 
better  than  I  ever  did,  and  I  don't  want  to  lose  you. 
Can't  you  make  it  up  no  Avay  ?  ' 

"  I  looked  down  at  the  girl  a  kneeling  and  a  clinging 
there,  with  her  sweet,  pretty  face  turned  up,  and  all  her 
curls  a  tangling  round  her  neck,  and  I  couldn't  but  feel 
it  strange.  Miss  Dora,  that  I'd  got  over  all  fancy  for  her, 
so  that  I'd  as  soon  have  took  a  snake  in  my  arms  as  her. 
She  was  handsome,  and  I  reckon  she  never  looked  hand- 
somer than  that  minute  ;  and  she  was  awfully  in  airnest 
— that  was  plain  enough  to  see  ;  but  as  for  making  up,  as 
she  called  it,  I  wouldn't,  nor  I  couldn't,  have  done  it  if 
18 


206  DOFxA   DARLIXG: 

she'd  been  the  only  woman  left  under  the  canopy.  But 
I  pitied  her,  and  I  couldn't  feel  so  wrathy  with  her  as  I 
nad  done,  when  I  see  her  so  kind  of  broken.  So  I  says, 
very  gentle,  — 

"  '  No,  Xelly,  you  can't  never  be  nothing  to  me  again. 
I'm  rough  and  rude,  I  know  ;  but  I  never  could  love  any 
woman  that  wasn't  just  as  particular  in  her  ways  as  the 
first  lady  in  the  laud  should  be.  I'm  awful  sorry  for 
you,  and  for  myself,  and  more'u  all  for  poor  Susan,  who's 
been  the  most  wronged  after  all,  and  is  the  least  able  to 
stand  it.  But  what's  done  can't  be  undone  nohow  ;  and 
the  way  I've  fixed  it,  is,  I  think,  the  best  for  all  parties. 

"  '  Get  up,  Xelly,  and  go  home  now,  and  remember 
what  I  said  about  keeping  out  of  Sue's  way.  The  sight 
of  you  will  about  kill  her  after  this  day's  work.' 

"  '  But  ain't  I  never  to  see  her,  or  you,  or  uncle  any 
more,  after  I  am  married  ?  '  asks  Xelly. 

"  '  Not  at  present.  By  and  by,  perhaps,  when  time 
has  sort  of  healed  up  our  hearts,  and  you've  proved  by 
your  life  that  you  are  really  truly  sorry  for  the  doings  of 
this  last  three  months,  perhaps  we  may  all  come  to- 
gether again  in  a  sort  of  way.  Blood  is  thicker  than 
w^ater,  and  we  shan't  forget  that  you  are  our  cousin. 
But  just  now,  you'll  see  the  sense  of  keeping  yourself 
pretty  much  out  of  sight  of  poor  Sue,  at  least,  and  if 
Judson  knows  what's  good  for  himself,  he'll  do  the  same.' 
I  turned   off  into   the  woods  with  that,  and  wandered 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE  BEGIMENT.  207 

about  till  after  dark.  When  I  got  home,  Nelly  was  up 
iu  her  own  room,  and  she  didn't  come  down  all  the 
next  day. 

"  But,  Miss  Dora,  ain't  you  tired  of  my  talk  by  this 
time?" 

"  No,  Merlin,  not  in  the  least ;  but  I  am  neglecting  other 
things  to  listen  to  you.  I  must  go  now  for  a  while  ;  but 
this  afternoon,  when  the  men  have  all  had  dinner,  I  should 
like  ever  so  much  to  hear  the  rest.  Won't  you  try  and 
sleep  now  ?  " 


CHAPTEE    XXII. 

A  FEW  hours  later,  Dora,  having  seen  all  her  patients 
comfortably  disposed  for  their  afternoon's  rest  or  recrea- 
tion, seated  herself  by  Merlin's  bed,  with  some  sewing, 
and  told  him  she  was  all  ready  to  hear  the  rest  of  the 
story  he  had  begun  in  the  morning. 

"Well,  Miss  Dora,  I  think  it's  very  kind  of  you  to 
care  about  it,  but  it's  a  great  relief  to  me  to  tell  it,"  said 
Merlin.  "  And  as  long  as  you're  willing  I'll  keep  right 
on,  and  tell  you  the  whole. 

"  After  father  and  Sue  got  home,  I  told  them,  as  care- 
less as  I  could,  that  Nelly  and  I  had  had  a  falling  out, 
and  that  I  had  a&vised  her  to  marry  Rob  Judson  if  Sue 
would  give  him  up  ;  and  I  reckoned  they  had  pretty  much 
made  up  their  minds  to  take  my  advice. 

"  Then  there  was  a  time.  Father  he  stormed  and 
swore,  and  laid  it  all  off  on  me  for  quarrelling  with 
Xelly,  who  was  a  great  pet  of  his'n,  and  then  he  turned 
right  round  and  said  Sue  had  a  better  right  to  her 
own  fellow  than  any  other  girl,  and  she  shouldn't  give 
him  up  without  she  was  a  mind  to.  Then  he  turned  to 
speak  to  her,  and  there  she  was,  fainted  dead  away  in  her 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMEXT.  209 

chair.  We  thought  she  was  dead,  and  we  didn't  get  any 
life  into  her  for  more  than  an  hour.  When  she  come  to, 
she  called  me,  and  questioned  me  up  so  close,  she  got 
pretty  near  the  whole  story  out  of  me  ;  and  then  she 
kissed  me,  and  asked  me  never  to  leave  her  while  she 
lived.  She  said  it  wouldn't  be  for  long,  and  it  wasn't ; 
but  if  it  had  been  a  lifetime  I'd  have  stopped. 

''  She  took  to  her  bed  that  very  day,  and  she  never 
got  up  again.  Miss  Dora,  they  tell  about  angels  looking 
all  white  and  shiny,  as  if  they  give  off  light  of  them- 
selves. "Well,  that  was  the  way  that  girl  looked.  It 
seemed  as  if  her  soul  was  shining  right  through  her 
body  ;  and  I  don't  believe  she'd  need  to  look  any  different 
in  heaven  from  Avhat  she  did  them  last  weeks  of  her 
life. 

"  She  didn't  seem  unhappy,  nor  she  didn't  seem  to 
care  any  longer  about  Rob,  or  the  things  that  had  tried 
her  so  when  she  was  about.  She  never  asked  for  Nelly, 
nor  spoke  her  name,  no  more  than  if  there  wasn't  such  a 
person,  nor  I  to  her. 

"A  couple  of  days  after  the  flare-up,  Judson  came  and 
took  Xell  to  a  justice's  house,  about  five  mile  from  ours, 
and  they  was  married.  Father  went  with  them  to  see 
that  all  was  done  regular  ;  and  somehow  or  other  Rob 
and  he  patched  up  a  sort  of  peace,  and  father  used  after- 
v.ards  to  go  there  considerable. 

"  I  didn't  know  much  about  his  doings^  however,  being 
18* 


210  DORA  DARLIXG: 

mostly  took  up  with  Sue.  It  wasn't  much  that  I  could 
do  for  the  poor  girl ;  but  she  liked  having  me  with  her, 
and  there  was  nothing  I  wouldn't  have  been  glad  to  do 
to  please  her. 

"  She  didn't  suffer  much,  and  her  thoughts  seemed 
mostly  took  up  with  the  happiness  she  was  going  to,  and 
the  hopes  of  being  with  mother  again.  She  never  said 
nothing  like  complaining  but  once,  and  then  it  was,  — 

"  '  They've  killed  my  body,  Harry,  but  that  will  only 
give  me  back  to  dear  mother,  and  we  shall  live  forever 
with  Christ  and  each  other.' 

"  At  last  she  died." 

Merlin  paused,  and  hid  his  face  a  moment.  Dora 
softly  placed  her  hand  on  his,  but  said  nothing,  and  after 
a  few  moments  the  Kentuckian  resumed  his  story. 

"  When  we'd  buried  Sue,  I  began  to  think  about  my- 
self again.  As  for  settling  down  to  the  care  of  a  farm, 
with  only  father  for  a  family,  and  Judson  and  his  wife 
living  not  a  mile  away,  I  couldn't  do  it  nohow  ;  and  after 
thinking  the  matter  over  every  way  that  I  could  fix  it,  I 
told  the  old  gentleman  that  I  was  going  into  the  army. 
He  was  just  as  bitter  about  it  as  he  was  before,  and  finally 
told  me  to  give  in  to  secession,  or  leave  his  house  for 
good  and  all. 

"  I  took  a  night  to  think  of  it,  and  in  the  morning  I 
told  him  I  was  ready  to  go,  and  asked  him  to  shake 
hands,  and  say  good  by.     The  poor  old  man  swore,  and 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  211 

then  he  cried,  and  said  how  his  wife  and  his  daughter 
was  dead,  and  now  his  only  son  was  desertin«g  him. 

"  I  told  him  that  was  to  be  as  he  said ;  that  if  he 
cared  for  aiy  company,  I'd  stay  as  long  as  he  wanted  me, 
if  he  wouldn't  say  anything  about  secession,  for  that  I 
should  never  join  that  party  as  long  as  I  had  the  use  of 
my  senses. 

"  That  made  him  mad  again  ;  and  he  told  me  to  be- 
Sfone,  and  said  he  knew  where  to  find  a  son  and  a 
daughter,  too,  that  would  be  better  to  him  than  his  own 
flesh  and  blood. 

"  I  knew  who  he  meant,  but  I  didn't  care  for  myself, 
though  I  was  kind  of  cut  that  he  should  talk  about  Nelly 
taking  the  place  of  Sue  to  him  ;  so  I  didn't  stop  for  any 
more  talk,  but  went  off  that  very  morning. 

"  I  knew  there  was  a  company  mustering  in  Prince- 
ton, pretty  near  twenty  miles  from  where  I  lived,  and  1 
went  right  away  there  to  enlist. 

"  After  a  few  weeks  we  were  ready  to  join  the  regi- 
ment, and  I  went  over  to  take  a  last  look  at  the  old  place, 
and  see  if  father  and  I  couldn't  part  on  better  terms. 

"  I  hadn't  more  than  got  into  the  village  near  where 
our  place  was,  when  I  met  the  old  doctor  that  had  always 
been  to  our  house,  and  he,  looking  at  me  mighty  sharp, 
asked  where  I  come  from,  and  if  I'd  heard  the  news.  I 
told  him  where  I'd  been,  and  what  I'd  been  about,  and 
asked  him  what  news  he  meant.     Before  he  answered, 


212  DOB  A   DARLIXG 

he  made  me  get  into  his  chaise,  and  drove  off  right  out 
of  town.  When  we  was  well  on  the  road,  he  told  me 
that  only  the  night  before  a  party  of  guerrillas  had  made 
a  sudden  sweep  on  our  place,  and  driven  off  the  hogs  and 
cattle,  seized  the  horses,  and  whatever  provisions  they 
could  find,  and  was  off  to  the  mountains  before  any  force 
could  be  got  to  resist  them.  But  the  heavy  part  of  the 
news  was,  that  my  poor  old  father  had  most  likely  been 
shot,  and  his  body  burned  in  the  house.  All  that  could 
be  known  was  from  the  darkeys,  and  they  was  so  scared 
they  didn't  know  what  they  saw  and  what  they  didn't. 

"  The  most  likely  story,  however,  was,  that  father 
locked  the  doors  and  fired  out  of  his  window  at  the  fel- 
lows when  he  heard  them  breaking  into  the  barn,  and 
they  fired  back  at  him.  Any  way  nothing  more  was 
seen  of  him ;  and  Avhen  the  guerrillas  had  got  their 
plunder  together,  some  of  them  set  fire  to  the  house 
out  of  clear  deviltry,  and  rode  away  by  the  light  of  it ; 
and  before  anything  could  be  done  to  save  it,  the  whole 
place  was  no  more  than  a  heap  of  ashes,  and  most  likely 
my  father's  ashes  mixed  up  with  that  of  his  home." 

"  PIoAv  dreadful !  "  exclaimed  Dora. 

"  Yes,  it  was  that,"  said  the  Kentuckian,  emphatical- 
ly. "'  But  there's  more  a  coming  that's  about  as  bad,  as 
far  as  deviltry  goes.  It  was  out  of  revenge,  I  suppose, 
for  my  threatening  to  shoot  him  unless  he  married  Xelly, 
that  Rob  Judson  undertook  to  say  that  it  was  me  who 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE  EEGIMEXT.  213 

led  them  guerrillas,  and  shot  my  own  father  ;  and  I  think 
it  was  about  as  mean  a  lie  as  Satan  ever  put  into  the 
mouth  of  one  of  his  children." 

"  Did  he  say  so?  "  asked  Dora,  in  horror. 

"  Yes,  he  did,  and  swore  that  he  recognized  me,  when 
he  met  the  troop  riding  away.  He  told  all  round  that  I 
hadn't  joined  any  regular  troops,  but  was  one  of  these 
that  fought  either  side  or  any  side,  when  there  was  plun- 
der or  mischief  to  be  got,  and  that  no  doubt  I  had  led 
these  men  to  my  father's  house  partly  to  steal,  and  partly 
because  I  was  mad  at  being  turned  out  of  doors.  Any 
way,  about  half  the  village  believed  him ;  and  my  life 
wouldn't  have  been  safe  if  I'd  been  seen  in  town  while 
the  excitement  lasted.  The  doctor  said,  too,  that  he 
didn't  treat  Nelly  kind,  nor  as  he'd  ought  to,  and  that 
she  was  dreadful  changed  from  what  I'd  known  her." 

Merlin  paused,  and  a  black  scowl  settled  on  his  face. 
Dora  looked  at  him  timidly,  and  sought  for  the  right 
thing  to  say ;  but  she  could  not,  in  her  heart,  wonder  at 
the  resentment  that  his  next  words  betrayed. 

"  There's  my  sister's  broken  heart,  and  my  father's 
life,  and  poor  Xell's  peace  and  comfort,  and  all  the  best 
of  my  own  hopes  and  happiness  that  fellow  has  stole 
away  from  me.  His  miserable  life  wouldn't  begin  to 
pay  the  debt ;  but  it's  all  I  could  get,  and  when  I  left 
town  that  morning,  afraid  to  show  my  face  in  the  village 
where  I  had  grown  up,  and  aU  for  no  fault  of  my  own, 


214  DORA  BARLIXG. 

I  swore  that  if  ever  I  had  the  chance  I'd  take  that  life 
as  I  would  that  of  a  wild  beast. 

"  I  served  out  my  time  with  the  Kentucky  regiment, 
and  then  I  entered  this  Ohio  one,  and  I've  fought  through 
pretty  nigh  all<the  battles  that's  been  fought  in  this  part 
of  the  country  ;  but  though,  ever  since  I  heard  that  Judson 
had  enlisted,  I've  been  on  the  lookout  for  him,  I  never 
come  acrost  him,  till,  yesterday  morning,  I  heard  his  voice 
in  the  next  room  there,  and  knew  it  was  him.  Then  y<)u 
got  me  the  picture,  and  I  knew  Nelly  as  soon  as  I  see 
her,  and  my  mind  was  made  up  in  a  minute.  But  I  saw 
you  was  on  the  lookout  for  me,  and  I  kept  quiet  till  you 
should  be  abed  and  asleep." 

"  How  did  you  get  that  knife?"  interposed  Dora. 

"  I  asked  the  nurse  for  it  to  look  at  to  see  if  it  was 
rusted  ;  then  I  put  it  out  of  sight,  and  he  forgot  it." 

"  Merlin,  are  you  sorry  I  stopped  you?  " 

The  young  man  hesitated. 

"  jSTo,  Miss  Dora,  I  don't  know  as  I  am.  Now  that 
I've  told  you  all  about  it,  I  don't  feel  near  so  bitter  as 
when  I  had  it  all  shut  up  in  my  own  heart.  It  had  got 
to  have  some  sort  of  let  out,  and  if  I  had  told  you  in  the 
first  place,  I  don't  believe  I  should  have  made  up  my 
mind  to  do  as  I  did  last  night.  I  don't  feel  like  it  now, 
any  way." 

"  I'm  so  glad  of  that !  and  I'm  glad  you  told  me  aU 
about  it,  for  I  don't  feel  now  as  I  did  about  you,"  said 


y 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF   THE  EEGIMEXT.  215 

Dora,  simply.  '*  But  I  want  to  tell  Mr.  Brown,  and  ask 
him  to  talk  with  you,  and,  perhaps,  with  Judson.  I  know 
you  hadn't  ought  to  feel  the  way  you  do  to  him ;  but  I 
don't  know  how  to  tell  you  so  as  to  make  you  see  it,  and 
Mr.  Brown  can.     Will  you  let  him  talk  with  ^u  ?  " 

"Yes,  if  you  say  so,"  said  Merlin,  rather  reluctantly. 
"  But  I  wasn't  never  much  of  a  hand  for  parsons.  I'd 
rather  hear  you  talk." 

"  But  I  can't  talk  as  he  can,  and  he  isn't  a  bit  like  a 
parson.  I  am  going  now  to  read  to  him,  and  I  shall  tell 
him  all  about  you.     Perhaps  he'U  come  in  to-night." 

"  Thank  you.  Miss  Dora.  You  know  better  than  me 
about  it,"  said  Merlin,  wearily. 

The  little  nurse's  quick  eye  caught  the  symptom. 

"  You  have  talked  too  much,"  said  she  ;  "  you  must  go 
right  to  sleep  now,  and  get  a  good  nap  before  supper. 
Mind  me,  now.     Good  by." 

•'  Good  by,  miss.     I  wish  your  name  was  Sue." 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

A  FEW  days  after  these  events,  Dora  stood,  one  pleas- 
ant afternoon,  in  the  door  of  the  hospital  tent,  looking 
wistfully  out  over  the  golden-brown  hills  and  brilliant 
forest.  She  was  tired,  and  not  quite  well,  and  was  just 
wondering  whether  Mr.  Brown  would  ask  her  to  take  a 
walk  with  him,  and  whether,  if  he  did  not,  she  might  go 
with  Picter,  when  a  gay  voice  called  her  by  name,  and 
Captain  Karl  rode  up  on  a  fine  spirited  horse. 

^'Mademoiselle  la  Vivandiere  looks  moped  this  after- 
noon," said  he.  "  Don't  she  want  a  little  excursion  into 
the  country?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  cried  Dora,  eagerly  ;  "  but  how  do  you 
mean.  Captain  Karl?" 

"  TThy,  I  am  going  with  a  part  of  my  company  to  es- 
cort a  foraging  party,  who  are  proposing  to  help  a  secesh 
farmer,  about  five  miles  from  here,  get  in  his  crop  of 
corn.  If  you'll  come  along,  you  shall  have  a  seat  in  one 
of  the  Avagons,  or  a  horse,  if  you  like  to  ride." 

"0,  how  splendid !     I'll  ride  on  horseback,  if  you'd 
just  as  lief." 
(216) 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT,  217 

"  Just  exactly,  and  rather,  because  you  can  ride  with 
me.     Aren't  you  afraid  of  a  horse?  " 

"  I  reckon  I'm  not.  I've  always  ridden,  ever  since 
I  was  a  little  girl." 

"And  can  you  'reckon'  how  long  that  is?"  asked 
Captain  Windsor,  with  a  quizzical  smile. 

Dora  colored  hotly,  for  she  was  becoming  keenly  sen- 
sitive to  her  little  inaccuracies  of  language  and  deport- 
ment, and  had,  indeed,  corrected  most  of  them  under  the 
gentle  hints  of  her  kind  friend  the  chaplain.  Captain 
Karl's  ridicule,  however,  was  quite  a  different  matter  ; 
and  she  felt  more  disposed  to  resent  than  profit  by  it. 

"  I  think  I  had  better  not  go  to  ride  until  I  have  asked 
Mr.  Brown,"  said  she,  carefully.  "  I  Avill  go  and  see 
him  now." 

Captain  Karl  sprang  off  his  horse,  and  walked  along 
beside  her. 

"  Don't  be  dignified,  Dora  Darling,"  said  he,  with  a 
merry  smile.  "  Remember  that  I'm  the  very  earliest 
friend  you  made  in  the  regiment,  and  the  only  one  who 
ever  came  to  call  on  you  at  your  own  home.  You're  not 
going  to  be  cross  with  me  for  laughing  at  you  a  little 
—  are  you  ?  " 

"  No,  Captain  Karl,"  said  Dora,  stopping  short,  and 
putting  out  her  hand  to  be  shaken  ;   "  you  were  quite 
right,  and  I  was  very  silly  to  mind,  only  I  hate  to  be 
wrong  about  anything." 
19 


218  DORA   DARLING 

"  Well,  it's  not  often  that  you  are.  Come,  what's  the 
use  of  hunting  up  the  chaplain?  I  know  just  as  well  as 
he  about  the  safety,  or  the  propriety,  or  whatever  it  is, 
that  you're  doubting  about.  You're  not  afraid  to  go 
without  leave,  I  suppose  —  are  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Dora,  promptly.  "  Of  course  I  don't 
have  to  ask  leave,  only  I  like  to  tell  Mr.  Brown  what  I 
am  going  to  do.'* 

"  O,  well,  you  can  tell  me  this  time.  He  isn't  in,  I 
know  ;  I  saw  him  walking  off  with  the  colonel  about  half 
an  hour  ago." 

"  Are  you  sure?" 

"  Yes.  Here's  Hepburn,  however.  Hepburn,  is  Mr. 
Bro^Ti  in  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  believe  not,"  said  the  man,  saluting  re- 
spectfully. 

"  Where  is  he  gone,  Hepburn?  do  you  know?"  asked 
Dora,  eagerly. 

"  No,  Miss  Dora,  not  exactly  ;  but  I  think  he  and  the 
colonel  went  to  look  at  the  north  works.  I  heard  them 
speak  of  it." 

"  Well,  we  can't  go  out  there,"  exclaimed  Captain 
Windsor,  impatiently.  "  I  ought  to  be  off  in  ten  minutes, 
at  the  outside.  Come,  Dora,  don't  be  foolish  about  it. 
I  wouldn't  ask  you  if  it  wasn't  right." 

"  Well,  I  will  go,"  said  Dora,  still  rather  doubtfully. 

"  That's  right,"  cried  Windsor,  regaining  his  pleasant 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  219 

smile.  "  Hepburn,  run  to  the  stables,  and  get  that  little 
white  nag  I  was  trying  this  morning  when  you  were  down 
there.  I  said  then  it  was  a  regular  lady's  horse,  although 
I'm  afraid,  Dora,  you  won't  be  able  to  ride  lady  fashion  for 
want  of  a  side-saddle  ;  but  vivandieres  never  ride  on  side- 
saddles." 

"  I  never  had  a  side-saddle  ;  so  I  can  do  better  without 
than  with  it,"  said  Dora,  skipping  along  gleefully ;  for 
the  idea  of  a  fresh,  free  gallop  in  the  bracing  autumnal 
air  set  all  her  blood  tingling,  and  revived  an  instinct  of 
her  nature  stigmatized  by  her  aunt  Wilson  as  "  tomboy," 
and  by  her  mother  as  "  wild." 

"  Come,  now,  that  looks  like  having  a  good  time,  Dora 
Darling,"  laughed  Captain  Karl.  "  Here  we  are,"  con- 
tinued he,  as  Hepburn  brought  up  the  horse.  "  Isn't  it  a 
jolly  little  nag?  I'll  speak  to  the  colonel,  and  have  him 
kept  for  your  o^ti  use.  Give  me  your  foot ;  now,  then, 
up  you  go  !  Here's  the  rein.  You  sit  like  an  angel. 
Now  we  must  trot,  for  the  train  has  started  this  half  an 
hour,  and  we  must  get  to  the  head  of  it  before  the  fight- 
ing begins." 

"Do  you  expect  a  fight?"  asked  Dora,  a  little  anx- 
iously. 

"  Why,  I  don't  know,"  said  her  companion,  looking  at 
her  with  a  mocking  smile.     "  Are  you  frightened?" 

"  O,  no,  not  at  all,"  replied  she,  seriously.  "  I  was 
only  thinking  what  a  pity  I  didn't  put  on  my  belt  with 
the  flasks  and  things." 


220  DORA  DARLING 

"  O,  that  was  it !    You  are  all  ready  for  action,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  why,  that  is  what  we  expect  when  we 
enter  the  army  —  isn't  it  ?  "  said  Dora  so  seriously  that 
Captain  Karl  burst  out  laughing. 

"  O,  you  funny  little  thing  !  "  cried  he,  "  you  make  me 
laugh  so  I  shall  certainly  die  some  day  if  I  see  much  of 
you." 

"  And  shan't  you  if  you  don't?  "  asked  the  vivandiere, 
pouting  a  little. 

"  Not  in  the  same  way,  mademoiselle.  If  I  lose  you 
I  shall  die  of  crying  instead  of  laughing  —  dissolve,  in- 
stead of  exhaling ;  that  wdll  be  the  difference.  But, 
hillo  !  see  here  !  w^e  are  going  to  meet  both  our  masters 
at  once  ;  and  while  I  shall  catch  it  for  not  having  started 
sooner,  you  wall  fare  just  as  badly  for  having  started 
at  all." 

"  Mr.  Brown  is  not  my  master  ;  and  I  am  not  at  all 
afraid  of  '  caiching  it,'  as  you  call  it,  from  him  or  any 
one  else,"  said  Dora,  proudly. 

"  Nonsense,  Do  !  You  know  that  you  are  as  much 
afraid  of  him  as  possible,  and  that  if  he  looks  black  at 
your  going,  you  will  turn  right  about,  and  trot  meekly 
back  to  quarters.  And  I  have  got  into  my  scrape  en- 
tirely from  anxiety  to  take  you  with  me." 

"  I  shan't  turn  back  and  leave  you,"  said  Dora,  de- 
cidedly. 

"  Not  if  the  parson  says  you  must?"  asked  Windsor, 
mischievously. 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE  REGIMENT.  221 

"  There's  no  must  about  it.  He  has  no  right  to  say 
must^^*  replied  Dora,  pettishly. 

There  was  no  time  for  her  companion  to  reply,  as  the 
two  parties  had  now  approached  near  enough  to  speak. 

Colonel  Blank,  frowning  a  little  as  his  eyes  fell  upon 
his  recreant  officer,  pulled  out  his  watch,  and  said,  after 
a  glance  at  it,  — 

"  I  believe  you  were  to  start  at  three,  Captain  Windsor. 
It  is  now  half  past.'* 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Captain  Karl,  respectfully  saluting ; 
"  I  have  been  detained,  but  shall  soon  overtake  my  com- 
mand, who  set  forward  at  the  appointed  hour  under 
charge  of  Lieutenant  Fosdick." 

"I  believe  there  were  no  orders  for  the  vivandiere  to 
accompany  the  expedition,"  continued  Colonel  Blank, 
glancing  at  Dora  rather  disapprovingly. 

"  No,  sir ;  but  I  supposed  there  would  be  no  objec- 
tion," said  the  captain,  with  an  assured  air. 

Whatever  the  colonel  replied,  as  he  passed  on,  was  lost 
to  Dora,  for  Mr.  BroAvn  at  this  moment  laid  his  hand 
upon  her  horse's  neck,  and  asked  pleasantly,  but  yet  in  a 
tone  that  the  girl  fancied  somewhat  arbitrary,  — 

"  Why,  where  are  you  going  now,  my  child?  " 

"  I  am  going  with  Captain  Karl,  sir,  to  take  a  ride." 

"But  where?" 

"  We  are  going  to  protect  the  foragers,  I  believe,  sir." 

"  And  wlio  is  going  to  protect  you,  my  child,  if  you 
19* 


222  DORA   DARLIXG: 

meet  the  enemy?  I  think  it  is  hardly  a  safe  expedition 
for  you,  Dora.  Suppose  you  make  an  excuse  to  Captain 
Windsor,  and  come  back  with  me  to  camp.  I  will  get  a 
horse,  and  ride  with  you,  if  you  wish." 

"  Thank  you,  sir  ;  but  I  think  I  will  go  with  Captain 
Karl,"  said  Dora,  resolutely,  as  she  caught  the  eye  of 
her  companion,  w^ho  was  looking  pleadingly  at  her  from 
behind  the  chaplain. 

"  But,  Dora,"  continued  Mr.  Brown,  speaking  a  little 
lower,  "  it  seems  to  me  hardly  proper  for  you  to  go  off 
in  this  manner,  with  no  protector  but  so  young  a  man, 
who  wall,  besides,  be  too  busy  to  look  after  you,  in  case 
of  an  attack.  And  I  do  not  fancy  your  style  of  horse- 
manship either." 

Dora's  cheeks  flamed,  and  the  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes. 
She  longed  to  submit  to  the  judgment  of  her  friend,  and 
yet  she  could  not  bear  the  appearance  of  submission,  un- 
der the  mocking  eyes  of  Captain  Karl.  The  chaplain 
anxiously  Avatched  her  face,  and  saw  there  the  struggle 
between  pride  and  duty.  He  feared  ^hat  th^ormer  w^as 
about  to  conquer,  and  her  first  embarrassed  words  con- 
firmed the  fear. 

"  I  always  rode  so  at  home,  sir  ;  and  I  think  Captain 
Karl  can  take  care  of  me." 

"  Come,  Dora,  I  must  be  off,"  interposed  the  captain, 
hurriedly,  as  Colonel  Blank  paused  and  looked  around. 
"  Never  fear,  Mr.  Brown,  for  your  pupil.     I  shall  take 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  223 

the  best  of  care  of  her  ;  and  in  fact  you  know  I  am  one 
of  her  adoptive  fathers." 

The  chaplain  said  no  more,  but  Dora  caught  the  disap- 
proving expression  of  his  face  as  he  turned  away ;  and 
liad  it  not  been  for"  very  shame,  she  would  have  turned 
her  horse's  head,  and  hastened  after  him  to  make  her  sub- 
mission. 

Her  companion  seemed  to  have  received  a  much  less 
serious  impression  from  the  interview,  and  as  they  pushed 
their  horses  into  a  rapid  trot,  he  said,  gayly, — 

"  Well,  Dora  Darling,  we  rubbed  through  that  scrape 
better  than  I  expected.  The  old  man  will  have  had  his 
dinner  before  we  get  back,  and  I  shall  be  received  with 
open  arms  ;  that  is,  if  I  am  successful,  as  I  intend  to  be." 

"  What  old  man?"  asked  Dora,  shortly. 

"  Why,  the  colonel,  of  course,  little  goosie.  I  don't 
call  the  parson  '  old  man.'  " 

"  Xor  the  colonel  isn't  old,  either,"  persisted  Dora. 

"What  of  that?  You  are  very  critical  to-day,  mad- 
emoiselle. We  always  call  the  colonel  '  old  man,'  just  as 
we  call  our  papas  'the  governor'  at  home." 

"  I  never  called  my  father  '  governor.'  " 

"  I  dare  say  not.  Girls  don't,  I  suppose,  because  to 
be  a  young  woman's  father,  is  not  to  govern-her.  Boys 
are  more  tractable,  you  know." 

"  I  shouldn't  think  they'd  like  to  call  any  one  '  govern- 
or,' if  they  are,"  said  Dora,  positively. 


224  DORA   DARLING^ 

"  Why  not^  you  delicious  little  innocent?" 

"  Because  I  should  hate  any  one  that  didn't  leave  me 
any  choice  about  minding  him  ;  and  if  he  had  a  right  to 
make  me  mind,  I  should  want  to  keep  it  out  of  sight." 

"  You  dreadful  rebel !  "  cried  Captain  Karl,  in  affected 
horror.     "  Do  you  hate  the  chaplain,  then? " 

"  No,  because  he  has  no  power  over  me.  If  he  had 
been  able  to  say  I  must  and  should  go  back  with  him  to- 
day, and  I  had  gone,  I  am  afraid  I  should  have  hated 
him." 

"  Then  you  came  with  me  just  to  show  that  you  were 
your  own  mistress?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Was  it?"  asked  Dora,  with  a  look 
of  mortification. 

"To  be  sure  it  was.  Not  very  flattering  to  either  of 
us  — is  it?" 

"  But  that  wasn't  all.  I  wanted  first  to  go,  because  I 
thought  it  would  be  pleasant ;  and  then  —  " 

"Well,  then,  after  you  met  Brown,  what  made  you 
keep  on?"  persisted  the  captain,  maliciously. 

"  Well,"  began  Dora,  doubtfully,  "  I  think  it  was 
partly  because  you  said  I  wouldn't." 

"  That's  a  great  deal  better  than  the  other  reason,  to 
be  sure !  Why  don't  you  say  you  came  because  you  had 
a  mind  to,  and  was  afraid  of  being  laughed  at  if  you 
didn't?" 

Dora  made  no  reply  ;  but,  as  she  rode  along,  she  made 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  225 

a  firm  resolution  to  confess  to  Mr.  Brown,  on  her  return, 
the  weakness  and  folly  of  her  course,  as  she  now  viewed 
it,  and  in  future  to  be  careful,  in  escaping  from  the  wise 
control  of  one  friend,  not  to  become  the  slave  of  another's 
ridicule. 

From  this  reverie  she  was  suddenly  aroused  by  the 
voice  of  her  companion,  saying,  rather  anxiously,  — 

"What  under  the  canopy  has  become  of  those  fellows? 
This  is  the  road  the  scout  described  as  the  nearest,  and 
the  one  I  told  Fosdick  to  take.  But  we  ought  to  have 
overtaken  them  by  this  time." 

"  The  road  doesn't  look  as  if  they  had  just  passed, 
either,"  said  Dora. 

"Don't  it?  That's  a  regular  mountaineer's  thought, 
little  Do.  We  must  have  missed  som'e  turn  or  fork,  and 
must  face  about  and  look  for  the  right  road." 

"Perhaps  this  one  may  lead  where  we  want  to  go,  and 
we  can  meet  the  company  on  the  spot." 

"  Let  me  see.  About  ten  miles  from  camp  due  north 
was  the  direction,  and  we  have  certainly  ridden  eight.  I 
think  I  should  know  the  place  from  the  description  that 
fellow  gave  of  it.  A  long  red  farm-house  between  two 
hills,  with  a  range  of  barns  across  the  valley.  The  seces.h 
that  owns  it  had  contracted  to  supply  a  rebe^  cavalry 
corps  somewhere  towards  Monterey,  and  has  just  stuffed 
his  bams.     Won't  it  be  jolly  to  empty  them  for  him?  " 

"  Well,  do  you  think  we  shall  reach  the  place  this  way  ?  " 


22G  DORA   DARLING. 

asked  Dora,  finding  that  her  companion  continued  his 
course. 

"  Yes  ;  I  don't  see  how  we  can  help  it.  ^V'e  are  trav- 
elling due  north,  and  when  our  hour  is  up,  I  shall  expect 
to  see  the  farm-house  looming  up  right  across  the  road." 

"  Here's  a  long  hill  before  us.  Perhaps  we  shall  see 
it  from  the  top." 

*'  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  we  did.  Come,  hurry  up  your 
nag,  and  see  who  will  be  there  first." 

Dora  lightly  struck  her  horse  with  the  switch  cut  for 
her  by  Captain  Karl,  and  scampered  along  beside  the  tall 
charger  ridden  by  that  officer,  very  much  as  the  Black 
Prince  may  have  attempted  to  keep  pace  on  his  scrubby 
little  pony  with  his  captive.  King  John  of  France, 
mounted  upon  his  noble  war  horse. 

Unequal,  however,  as  the  race  might  seem,  it  termi- 
nated in  the  arrival  of  the  contestants  at  their  goal  in  the 
same  moment,  and  Dora  was  in  the  midst  of  some  tri- 
umphant remarks  upon  the  subject,  when  she  was  doubly 
interrupted ;  first,  by  the  captain's  exclamation  of, 
*'  There's  the  farm,  and  there  are  our  fellows,"  and 
secondly,  by  a  pistol  shot  from  the  thicket  close  beside  the 
road,  that  sent  a  ball  humming  close  above  Windsor's 
head.     * 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

The  hill,  so  merrily  surmounted  by  Dora  and  her 
friend  Captain  Karl,  proved  to  be  one  of  those  in  whose 
valley  lay  the  long  red  farm-house,  with  its  range  of  barns, 
where  the  foraging  party  expected  to  meet  with  their 
booty. 

The  immediate  vicinity  of  the  house  was  still  as  peace- 
ful and  solitary  as  if  no  army  had  ever  invaded  its  neigh- 
borhood ;  but  winding  out  from  a  gorge  at  the  left  of  the 
hill  where  they  stood,  the  observers  had  at  once  remarked 
a  line  of  armed  men  and  mule  wagons,  recognized  by 
both  as  the  train  Captain  Windsor  was  supposed  to  be 
conducting. 

The  pleasure  and  relief  from  anxiety  that  this  sight 
should  naturally  have  given  to  that  negligent  officer,  was, 
however,  somewhat  marred,  as  we  have  already  men- 
tioned, by  the  unexpected  salute  given  him  from  the 
thicket. 

"  Pelt  down  the  hill,  Dora,  as  fast  as  you  can  !  I  shall 
follow,"  cried  he.  "  No  use  in  stopping  to  look  for 
guerrillas." 

He  struck  Dora's  horse,  as  he  spoke,  with  his  sheathed 

(227) 


228  DOBA   DARLING: 

sword  ;  and  as  the  beast  struck  into  a  canter,  he  put  spurs 
to  his  own  horse,  and  followed,  pistol  in  hand. 

Not  half  way  down  the  hill,  however,  a  volley  of  bul- 
lets overtook  them,  and  Dora's  spirited  little  nag,  with  a 
rear  and  a  plunge,  fell  dead  beneath  her. 

Extricating  herself  as  quickly  as  possible  from  the 
stirrups,  the  undaunted  girl  sprang  to  her  feet,  exclaim- 
ing,— 

"  Never  mind  !  I'm  not  hurt !  Take  me  up,  Captain 
Karl,  behind  you." 

Captain  Windsor,  reining  up  his  horse  wdth  some  diffi- 
culty, stooped  to  give  his  hand  to  the  vivandiere,  but 
reeled  so  much  in  the  action  that  it  was  with  difficulty 
he  retained  his  own  seat.  Looking  up  in  his  face,  Dora 
uttered  a  sharp  exclamation  of  horror. 

A  bullet  intended  for  the  brain  of  the  young  officer 
had  glanced  along  his  forehead,  leaving  a  ghastly  furrow, 
whence  trickling  drops  of  blood  rained  down  across  his 
pallid  face. 

"  Nonsense  !  It's  no  more  than  a  scratch,"  exclaimed 
he,  hearing,  rather  than  seeing,  Dora's  consternation ; 
"  only  it  makes  me  a  little  sickish  to  stoop.  Grasp  my 
leg,  and  climb  up  behind  me  as  fast  as  you  can.  I'm 
afraid  I  can't  help  you." 

Dora  tried  to  obey  him,  but  the  spirited  horse,  already 
excited  by  the  sound  and  smell  of  gunpowder,  reared 
and  curvetted  too  much  to  enable  her  to  do  so. 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE  REGIMENT.  229 

"  Never  mind  !"  cried  she,  at  last.  "  Go  by  yourself, 
Captain  Karl.  They  won't  hurt  me  if  I'm  alone,  and 
you  can  send  up  men  to  rescue  me.  Go !  O,  do  go 
quick  !     They  will  kill  you  if  you  stay." 

Captain  Karl  replied  by  springing,  or  rather  sliding, 
from  his  horse. 

"  Get  up,  now,"  said  he,  dashing  the  blood  from  his 
eyes,  and  kneeling  on  one  knee,  that  Dora  might  make  a 
step  of  the  other,  while  at  the  same  time  he  kept  a  heavy 
hand  upon  the  horse's  bit. 

"  Did  you  think,  Do,  I  was  mean  enough  to  get  you 
into  this  scrape,  and  then  shirk  oiF  and  leave  you  in  it? 
Come,  hurry  yourself,  child.  Those  fellows  will  be 
down  upon  us  in  a  second." 

"  But  you?  "  asked  Dora,  with  her  foot  upon  the  cap- 
tain's knee,  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  O,  I  shall  get  up  in  front  of  you,"  said  the  young 
man,  hurriedly  ;  but,  as  the  words  left  his  mouth,  a  fi-esh 
discharge  of  bullets  flew  from  the  copse,  and  Captain 
Karl's  left  arm  fell  shattered  to  his  side,  while  another 
ball  cut  through  his  hat  and  entered  the  horse's  neck. 

The  animal,  released  from  his  master's  hold,  and  fran- 
tic with  rage  and  pain,  uttered  a  wild  scream,  and 
plunged  madly  down  the  hill. 

At  the  same  moment  two  men  broke  from  the  thicket, 
and  ran  towards  them. 

"Stand  off!"  cried  Captain  Karl,  raising  the  pistol 
20 


230  DORA  DARLING: 

he  had  fortunately  retained  in  his  right  hand.  "  I  have 
six  deaths  here,  and  you'll  be  sure  of  two  of  them  if  you 
come  one  step  nearer.  Crouch  down  close  behind  me, 
Dora,"  added  he,  softly,  as  the  men  paused  in  evident 
surprise. 

"Thought  the  Yankee  was  done  for.     I  put  a 

bullet  through  his  head,  any  way,"  cried  one  of  them. 

"  There,  there  they  are  !  "  whispered  Dora,  excitedly. 
"  Our  own  men.  Captain  Karl ;  they're  charging  up  hill 
at  the  double  quick." 

"  They'd  need  to  if  they  mean  to  save  their  valuable 
captain,"  said  AYindsor,  coolly.  "  Our  friends  are  load- 
ing again.  I  say,"  continued  he,  raising  his  voice  and 
his  pistol  at  the  same  time,  "  stop  that,  or  I  fire.  No 
loading.  Throw  down  your  arms,  and  come  forward ; 
you  are  my  prisoners.     Quick,  or  you're  dead  men." 

The  rebels,  completely  stupefied  at  the  audacity  of  the 
demand,  halted,  looked  at  one  another,  and  burst  into  a 
laugh.  Then,  after  consulting  in  a  whisper  for  a  mo- 
ment, they  darted  into  the  thicket  in  diiFerent  directions, 
and  so  suddenly,  that,  although  Windsor  fired  at  the  same 
instant,  he  was  unable  to  arrest  either. 

"  They've  hidden  to  re-load,"  muttered  he,  faintly. 
"  They'll  be  back  in  a  minute.  God  send  our  fellows  up 
in  time.  What  are  you  doing,  Dora?  Down,  this 
minute." 

The  vivandiere,  rising  calmly  to  her  feet,  stood  between 
her  friend  and  his  enemies. 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE  REGIMENT.  231 

"  They  won't  hurt  me,"  said  she,  quietly.  "  I  kaow 
one  of  them.  They  won't  fire  at  you  for  fear  of  shoot- 
ing me." 

"  Dora,  I  won't  have  it !  Fall  behind,  this  moment, 
or  I  swear  I'll  follow  those  fellows  and  meet  death  half 
way.  Do  you  imagine  I'll  screen  myself  behind  a  little 
girl  ?     Fall  behind,  this  instant,  I  say." 

Dora  turned  and  looked  at  him  in  some  little  doubt  as 
to  the  propriety  of  opposing  her  own  judgment  to  such 
vehement  commands ;  but  the  rebels,  catching  sight  of 
the  head  of  the  advancing  column,  who  were  struggling 
up  the  wooded  hill-side  without  having  discovered  the 
road,  now  rushed  from  their  concealment,  firing  as  they 
advanced. 

Captain  Windsor  returned  the  fire  ;  but  pain  and  loss 
of  blood  had  wasted  his  strength,  and  his  shots  flew 
wide. 

"  W"e  want  the  girl.  Give  up  the  girl,  and  we'll  quit. 
We  don't  care  for  finishing  you  off,"  cried  one  of  the 
rebels,  rushing  forward  and  seizing  Dora's  dress  as  lie 
spoke. 

Without  reply,  Captain  Windsor  fired  his  remaining 
barrel  full  into  the  face  of  the  ruffian,  who  staggered 
back  and  fell  lifeless.  Then,  drawing  his  sword,  and 
sharply  ordering  Dora  to  stand  behind  him,  the  brave 
young  soldier,  wounded,  bleeding,  exhausted,  stood  at 
bay  with  so  lion-like  a  port,  that  the  remaining  rebel 


232  DOHA  DABLIKG: 

wavered,  glanced  at  the  approaching  soldiery,  who,  afraid 
to  fire  upon  the  group,  were  now  rushing  forward  for  a 
bayonet  charge,  and  then,  with  a  sullen  curse,  sprang 
backward  into  the  bushes. 

"  Thank  God !  "  muttered  Captain  Karl,  as  he  sank 
to  the  ground,  while  his  men,  with  angry  menaces,  darted 
forward  in  pursuit. 

Dora  kneeled  beside  the  wounded  man,  almost  as  pale 
as  himself. 

■  '*  It's  a  pity  you  didn't  bring  the  canteen,  after  all," 
whispered  he,  with  a  faint  smile  ;  "  though,  if  I'd  any 
idea  of  such  a  shindy  as  this,  I  shouldn't  have  brought 
you.     What  will  the  parson  say  now  ?  " 

"  O,  never  mind  me  ;  only  I'm  so  sorry  to  have  noth- 
ing to  give  you  !  " 

"  The  worst  of  it  is,  one  of  those  last  bullets  went 
through  my  leg,"  muttered  Captain  Karl,  writhing  and 
grimacing  with  pain.  "  Only  a  flesh  wound,  I  hope  ;  but 
I  don't  think  I  could  stand  on  it,  or  mount  a  horse." 
'  "  You'll  have  to  be  carried  in  one  of  the  forage 
wagons,"  said  Dora,  quietly  ;  "  and  I  shall  go  with  you, 
and  take  care  of  you.  Here  comes  Lieutenant  Fosdick. 
You  can  tell  him  all  about  it." 

"  Well,  Fosdick,  you  didn't  catch  him?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  lieutenant,  saluting.  "  But  you 
seem  to  have  settled  one  of  them  pretty  effectually." 

"  Yes,  poor  fellow  !     He  wouldn't  hear  to  reason,  and 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF   THE  REGIMENT.  233 

keep  out  of  range  of  my  pistol,  and  so  naturally  came 
to  grief.  Let  some  of  them  carry  him  down  to  the  farm- 
house there.  Like  enough  they  are  his  friends,  or  will 
know  who  they  are.  And  let  the  teams  begin  to  load  at 
once.  I'll  lie  here  with  little  Dora,  to  watch  lest  the 
robin  redbreasts  come  and  prematurely  cover  me  up." 

"  You  had  better  let  the  men  make  a  litter  and  carry 
you  down  to  the  valley,  sir,"  suggested  the  lieutenant. 
"  You  will  be  out  of  danger  of  any  return  of  the  guerril- 
las then,  and  I  suppose,  of  course,  we  are  to  return  that 
way." 

"  Very  well.  Do  as  you  choose,"  was  the  feeble  re- 
ply. "  Dora,  child,  I  suspect  you  had  better  tie  your 
handkerchief  round  my  arm,  above  this  bullet  hole, 
unless  you  wish  to  carry  nothing  but  a  squeezed  lemon- 
peel  back  to  camp,  in  place  of  your  friend.  At  this  rate 
my  supply  of  blood  can't  last  long." 

Dora  quietly  and  quickly  did  as  she  was  bid,  nor  even 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  horror  as  she  deftly  cut  away 
the  blood-soaked  sleeves  from  the  wounded  arm,  and 
laid  bare  the  ghastly  wound.  Before  she  had  finished, 
Captain  Karl  had  fainted. 

"  How  glad  I  am  the  hartshorn  is  in  my  pocket !  "  said 
Dora,  firmly,  as  she  noticed  this.  "  Mr.  Fosdick,  will 
you  please  send  a  man  for  some  Avater  from  the  farm- 
house, as  fast  as  possible,  and  help  me  lay  the  captain 
down  flat?  You  may  fan  him,  please,  with  your  hat." 
20* 


234  DOHA  DABLING: 

The  lieutenant,  who  was  rather  a  stupid  and  unde- 
cided young  fellow,  stared  a  little  at  the  peremptory  tone 
adopted  by  the  little  vivandiere,  but  hastened  to  obey  her 
orders,  or  rather  comply  with  her  requests,  as  speedily  as 
possible.  The  result  of  their  efforts  was  so  fortunate, 
that  by  the  time  the  litter  was  ready,  Captain  Karl  was 
so  far  recovered  as  to  sneer  very  vivaciously  at  himself 
for  needing  such  a  conveyance,  and  especially  for  his 
effeminacy  in  swooning. 

"  I  never  shall  dare  ride  out  again  without  you  to 
protect  me,  Dora  Darling,"  said  he.  "  But  I'm  in  hopes 
that  in  time  you'll  make  a  man  of  me,  by  your  own 
example." 

"  Now  lie  down,  please,  Captain  Karl,"  returned  the 
little  nurse,  busily,  "  for  vre  are  just  going  to  set  out 
with  you  for  the  wagons.  And  I  wouldn't  talk  any  more 
till  w^e  get  there,  because  it  tires  you." 

"  Not  to  mention  my  hearers,"  suggested  the  captain, 
as  he  sank  back  upon  the  pillow  of  leaves,  hastily 
arranged  by  Dora,  at  one  end  of  the  rude  litter. 

The  forage  wagons  were  akeady  loaded  when  the 
little  procession  from  the  hill-top  reached  the  valley,  and 
the  whole  party  set  forth  immediately  on  their  return  to 
camp,  where  they  arrived  late,  weary,  and  saddened  by 
the  misfortune  of  their  beloved  young  commander. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

Notwithstanding  her  sympathy  in  his  sufferings, 
Dora  could  not  but  find  it  pleasant  to  have  Captain  Karl 
an  inmate  of  the  hospital,  where  his  gay  good  humor  and 
merry  mode  of  viewing  both  his  own  and  others'  misfor- 
tunes quite  changed  the  character  of  the  place.  His 
wounds  were  by  no  means  dangerous,  and  seemed  likely 
to  heal  with  little  trouble  or  delay ;  so  that,  after  a  week 
had  ^ssed,  he  declared  himself,  in  confidence,  to  the 
chaplain,  "  as  well  as  ever,  and  only  shirking  so  as  to 
stay  in  hospital  and  help  Dora  on." 

To  him,  as  well  as  to  Mr.  Brown,  the  little  nurse  had 
repeated  the  story  confided  to  her  by  Merlin,  and  both 
gentlemen  had  promised  to  do  all  that  was-  possible  to 
bring  about  a  better  state  of  feeling  between  the  Ken- 
tuckians.  Each  proceeded  in  his  own  way,  and  each 
produced  his  own  effect ;  for  while  Merlin  listened  with 
respectful  attention  to  the  chaplain's  clear  and  earnest 
arguments  in  favor  of  a  Christian  spirit  of  forgiveness 
even  of  the  bitterest  wrongs  and  insults,  Judson  found  it 
impossible  to  resist  Captain  Karl's  half  humorous  and 
all  informal  exhortations  to  confess  that  he  had  behaved 

(235) 


236  DORA  DARLING: 

himself  very  ill  both  to  Merlin  and  his  relatives,  and  had 
fully  justified  the  deep  indignation  entertained  towards 
him  by  the  former.  Of  the  terrible  justice  he  had  so 
narrowly  escaped  at  the  hands  of  Merlin,  the  captain  did 
not  speak ;  partly  because  he  feared  to  excite  a  resent- 
ment that  would  defeat  his  o^vn  purpose,  and  partly  be- 
cause Dora  so  earnestly  desired  to  have  her  own  share 
in  the  event  kept  from  Judson's  knowledge.  The  child, 
contrary  to  her  habit,  had  taken  a  violent  antipathy  to 
this  big  black-bearded  man,  of  whom  Merlin  had  told 
such  unpleasant  stories  ;  and  as  her  duties  never  now  led 
her  to  address  him,  she  seldom  approached  the  corner 
where  he  still  lay. 

Presently,  however,  a  deeper  anxiety  than  any  con- 
nected with  either  of  these  men,  took  possession  of  the 
little  girl's  affectionate  heart. 

One  day,  after  Captain  Karl  had  been  placed  upon  the 
convalescent  list,  and  was  well  enough  to  amuse  himself, 
at  least  a  part  of  the  time,  Dora  left  the  hospital  for  an 
hour  or  two,  and,  after  wandering  about  for  a  little  while, 
went  into  the  chaplain's  tent,  to  ask  permission  to  go  on 
with  a  book  of  his,  that  she  had  begun  to  read  several 
weeks  before. 

Mr.  Brown,  after  a  few  kind  inquiries  and  remarks, 
handed  her  the  volume  of  Eastern  Travels  for  which  she 
asked,  and  invited  her  to  seat  herself  upon  a  sort  of  lounge, 
manufactured  by  the  ingenious  Hepburn,  to  read  it. 


THE   DAUGHTER    OF    THE   REGIMENT.  237 

Dora,  absorbed  in  tales  of  harems,  fountains,  yash- 
maks, and  other  wonders,  to  her  as  great  as  those  of  the 
Arabian  Nights,  hardly  locked  up  when  Colonel  Blank 
entered  the  tent,  and  so  soon  as  she  had  returned  his 
careless  greeting,  buried  herself  again  in  the  charmed 
volume,  and  for  another  half  hour  was  conscious  of  noth- 
ing outside  it.     At  the  end  of  that  time,  however,  her 
attention  was  suddenly  aroused  by  the  mention  of  her 
own  name.     She  glanced  up  abstractedly.     Both  gentle- 
men, sitting  w^ith  their  backs  toward  her,  had  become 
entirely  forgetful  of  her  presence,  and  were  now  discuss- 
ing Captain  Windsor's   conduct   in  the    slight   skirmish 
where  he  had  been  wounded.     The  chaplain  was  appar- 
ently defending  his  friend,  and  trying  to  soften  the  dis- 
pleasure that  the  colonel  loudly  expressed.     The  sentence 
that  attracted  the  attention  of  the  vivandiere  was  this  :  — 
"  And  taking  Dora  with  him,  besides  causing  him  to 
disobey  orders  as  to  the  hour  of  starting,  was  altogether 
out  of  rule.     I  never  intended  the  child  to  be  exposed  in 
that  sort  of  way.     No,  sir,  there's  nothing  to  be  said  in 
extenuation  of  such  acts  of  insubordination  and  careless- 
ness.    Captain  Windsor  richly  deserves  to  be  degraded  ; 
it  would  be  no  more  than  an  adequate  punishment." 

"  Pardon  me,  colonel,  if  I  disagree  wdth  you.  The 
lad  is  high-spirited,  proud,  and  sensitive.  He  was  not, 
at  the  time,  nor  is  he  now,  aware  of  the  severe  construc- 
tion you  placed  upon  his  negligence.     Would  it  not  be 


238  DORA    DARLING: 

better,  by  a  friendly  admonition  in  private,  to  show  him 
your  views  and  his  own  errors,  than  by  undue  harshness 
to  alienate  him  from  his  commander,  and  possibly  lose  to 
the  service  of  the  country  one  of  her  bravest  defenders? 
After  all,  we  must  remember  he  is  himself  the  greatest 
sufferer  from  his  disobedience." 

"  As  it  happens,  yes.  But  it  might  very  well  have 
chanced  that  the  whole  command  should  have  been  sur- 
prised, and  cut  off,  with  that  little  sap  of  a  lieutenant  at 
their  head,  while  the  man  whose  business  it  was  to  lead 
them,  was  maundering  about  the  country  roads,  trying 
races  with  the  vivandiere.  No,  sir,  a  severe  public 
reprimand,  in  face  of  the  regiment,  is  as  light  a  punish- 
ment as  such  criminal  negligence  deserves,  and  he  shall 
have  it  the  first  day  he  appears  in  public,  as  sure  as  my 
name  is  Blank." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  —  "  began  the  chaplain  ;  but  before 
he  could  finish  the  sentence  the  door  flap  of  the  tent  was 
thrust  aside,  and  two  officers  entered,  with  the  purpose, 
apparently,  of  making  a  call. 

Colonel  Blank,  with  an  expression  of  annoyance  at 
the  interruption,  rose  from  his  seat,  and,  after  briefly 
returning  the  salutations  of  the  two  captains,  left  the 
tent. 

Dora,  gliding  quietly  behind  the  chaplain,  also  made 
her  retreat,  unobserved  by  him,  until,  just  as  she  disap- 
peared, one  of  the  guests  exclaimed,  — 


THE   DAUGHTER    OF    THE   REGIMENT.  239 

*'  Hullo  !  Is  that  a  brownie,  or  our  little  vivandiere, 
Brown?" 

"It  is  Dora  Darling.  She  has  been  reading  here  for 
the  last  hour,"  said  the  chaplain,  suddenly  remember- 
ing that  the  girl  must  have  heard  the  conversation  be- 
tween himself  and  the  colonel,  and  wishing  that  he  had 
seen  her  in  time  to  give  a  warning  against  repeating  it. 
A  second  thought,  however,  assured  him  of  Dora's  cau- 
tion and  delicate  sense  of  honor,  and  he  seated  himself 
to  entertain  his  guests  with  his  usual  easy  cordiality  of 
manner. 

Dora,  meanwhile,  as  soon  as  she  found  herself  in  the 
open  air,  hurried  after  the  colonel,  Avho  was  striding 
away  toward  the  outskirts  of  the  camp,  for  his  evening 
promenade. 

"  Colonel  Blank  !  "  exclaimed  the  vivandiere^  quick- 
ening her  step  almost  to  a  run. 

The  colonel  paused  and  looked  around.  "  Dora  Dar- 
ling !  And  what  do  you  want,  my  daughter  ?  "  asked 
he,  kindly,  as  the  child  stood  beside  him,  and  raised  her 
grave  eyes  to  his  face. 

"  I  want  to  talk  with  you,  sir,"  said  Dora,  with  a  little 
hesitation,  for  the  exact  form  of  her  petition  was  by  no 
means  clear  in  her  own  mind. 

"  Come,  then,  along  with  me,  and  we  will  talk  and 
walk  at  the  same  time.  I  know  what  you  want,  already. 
It's  a  splendid  red,  blue,  and  white  ribbon,  to  wear  bald- 


240  DORA  DARLING) 

ric-wise  across  your  shoulder,  with  jour  flask  fastened  to 
its  lower  end.     Now,  isn't  that  it  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Dora,  a  little  indignantly. 

"  No  !  Well,  then  you  want  a  little  drum,  such  as  the 
vivandiere  in  'La  Fille  du  Regiment'  is  got  up  with. 
I've  thought  of  it  before,  Dora  Darling,  but  I  concluded 
it  would  only  be  in  your  way  ;  and  I  can't  think  of  any 
use  for  it,  except  to  summon  aid  in  case  you  were  cap- 
tured or  lost,  and  for  that  I've  something  far  prettier  to 
give  you.  It's  a  silver  whistle,  Dora,  such  as  boatswains 
use  on  board  men-of-war.  It  was  given  me  hj  a  friend 
in  the  navy,  who  found  it  on  board  a  rebel  gunboat  that 
he  helped  capture.  I  was  looking  at  it  the  other  day, 
and  thinking  I  would  give  it  to  you  some  time.  Come 
up  to  my  tent  to-night,  and  you  shall  have  it.  Now, 
isn't  that  better  than  the  drum  ?  " 

"  Yes,  su',  it  would  be  very  nice  ;  but  it  wasn't  a  drum 
that  I  was  going  to  ask  for." 

"  Not  a  drum,,  and  not  a  baldric  !  "  cried  the  colonel, 
with  an  affectation  of  great  surprise.  "  Then  it  must  be 
sugar-plums  ;  and  those  I  have  not  to  give  you.  There 
are  none  nearer  than  Monterey,  I  am  afraid ;  and  even 
there  it's  likely  enough  the  graybacks  will  have  eaten 
them  all  up.  Shall  I  take  the  town,  and  find  out 
about  it?" 

"  It  isn't  any  such  thing  as  that,  sir,"  said  Dora,  seri- 
ously, for  she  had  now  recovered  all  her  usual  determinar 


THE   DAUGHTER    OF   THE   REGIMENT.  241 

tion,  and  was  rather  annoyed  than  amused  at  the  colonel's 
raillery. 

"  What  is  it,  then?  I  am  at  the  end  of  my  wits,  and 
can  guess  nothing  further." 

"  I  want  you  to  forgive  Captain  Karl  —  Captain  Wind- 
sor, I  mean,"  said  Dora,  bluntly. 

The  colonel  dropped  her  hand,  and  looked  both  sur- 
prised and  displeased. 

"  What  do  you  know  of  my  intentions  regarding  Cap- 
tain Windsor  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  I  heard  what  you  were  saying,  just  now,  to  Mr. 
Brown." 

"  What !  you  were  listening  —  were  you?  "  exclaimed 
the  colonel. 

"  No,  sii\  I  never  listen  to  things  people  say  when 
they  think  they  are  alone  ;  but  you  saw  me  in  the  tent ; 
you  spoke  to  me  when  you  came  in.  I  didn't  hide  away. 
I  just  sat  still." 

"  And  what  made  you  keep  so  quiet  that  we  forgot  all 
about  you  ?  Wasn't  it  so  as  to  listen  ?  "  demanded  the 
colonel,  the  corner  of  his  mouth  quivering  with  a  sup- 
pressed smile  as  he  glanced  at  the  crimson  cheek,  flashing 
eyes,  and  straightened  figure  of  the  little  maid. 

"  No,  indeed,  sir.      I  was  reading  '■  The  Howadji  in 
Syria,'  and  I  forgot  where  I  was,  entirely,  until  I  heard 
you  say  '  Dora  ; '  and  then  I  looked  up,  and  you  went  on 
about  Captain  Karl,  saying  —  " 
21 


242  DORA  DARLIXG: 

"  Xever  mind  about  Captain  Karl,  child.  It  is  never 
Avell  for  little  girls  to  meddle  in  the  affairs  of  other  people, 
especially  people  older  and  wiser  than  themselves.  I  am 
glad  you  were  not  an  intentional  listener  to  our  con- 
versation, for  nothing  is  meaner  than  to  try  to  overhear 
what  is  not  intended  for  you  ;  and  I  have  only  my  own 
carelessness  to  blame.  In  future,  however,  you  must 
speak  or  show  yourself  when  you  see  that  people  have 
forgotten  you,  and  are  discussing  private  matters  in  your 
presence.  Now  I  advise  you  to  go  back  to  the  '  Howadji,' 
and  leave  regimental  discipline  to  me." 

"  But,  sir.  Captain  Karl  wasn't  to  blame,"  persisted 
Dora,  in  spite  of  the  colonel's  frown.  "  He  meant  to  go 
with  the  company ;  but  we  lost  our  Avay.  and  I  advised 
him  to  keep  right  on,  instead  of  turning  back  to  look  for 
the  men." 

"  And  did  you  and  he  understand  that  I  had  delegated 
the  command  of  the  expedition  to  you,  my  dear  ? "  in- 
quired the  colonel,  grimly. 

"  No,  sir.  He  meant  to  mind  what  you  had  told  him, 
and  I  only  wanted  to  help  him  do  so.  We  both  thought 
we  should  find  the  company  quicker  by  keeping  on  than 
by  turning  back," 

"  And  what  prevented  him  from  taking  the  right  road 
at  first?" 

"  The  guide  was  witli  the  company,  sir,  and  they  were 
out  of  sight  before  we  set  out." 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  243 

"  Indeed  !  And  pray  why  did  Captain  Windsor  wait 
until  his  command  was  out  of  sight  before  he  set  out  to 
lead  it  ?  " 

The  colonel  smiled  sarcastically,  as  he  made  this  in- 
quiry, and  Dora  again  colored  deeply,  but  nevertheless 
answered  with  courage,  — 

"  Because,  su',  he  waited  to  ask  me  to  go,  and  then  to 
get  a  horse  for  me,  and  then  you  kept  us  a  few  min- 
utes—  " 

"  And  don't  you  know,  child,  that  a  soldier  on  duty 
has  no  right  to  neglect  or  swerve  from  that  duty  ever  so 
slightly,  and  that  many  a  brave  fellow  has  lost  life  and 
honor  for  a  smaller  disobedience  than  this  ?  " 

*•'•  There's  no  danger  of  Captain  Karl  losing  his  life?" 
asked  Dora,  quickly,  and  with  whitened  cheek. 

"  No,  not  this  time  ;  but  if  you  are  his  friend,  Dora 
Darling,  you  will  advise  him  not  to  risk  as  much  another 
time." 

"  But  what  will  happen  to  him  now?  I  mean,  what 
do  you  think  you  will  do  ?  " 

"  What  do  I  think  I  will  do?  That's  an  odd  question  ; 
it  sounds  as  if  it  was  you,  and  not  I,  who  Icnoiu  what  I 
will  do." 

Dora  made  no  reply,  and  as  the  colonel  looked  sharply 
into  her  face,  her  eyes  met  his  with  a  look  of  steadfast 
determination. 

"  What  are  you  thinking,  Dora?" 


244  DORA  DARLING: 

"  I  am  waiting,  sir." 

"Waiting  for  what?" 

"  To  know  what  you  will  do,  so  as  to  know  what  I 
shall  do." 

"  O,  then  you  intend  to  take  action  in  the  matter — do 
you  ?  "  asked  Colonel  Blank,  ironically. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  what  will  you  do  if  I  administer  a  public  repri- 
mand to  your  hero  ?  That  is  the  mildest  course  con- 
templated." 

*'  I  will  speak  as  soon  as  you  are  done,  and  say  that 
you  are  wrong,  for  it  was  I,  and  not  Captain  Karl,  who 
was  to  blame,  and  should  be  reprimanded." 

"You'll  do  that  —  will  you?"  asked  the  colonel,  in 
great  surprise. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  I  will  do  to  you  after  such 
an  act  of  insubordination,  of  mutiny,  in  fact?" 

"  You  will  do  nothing,  sir ;  for  before  I  stop  I  shall 
bid  good  by  to  the  men,  and  tell  them  all  that  I  cannot 
be  the  daughter  of  the  regiment  any  longer,  because  I 
cannot  be  the  daughter  of  its  colonel." 

"  Then  I'll  have  you  and  Captain  Karl  drummed  out 
of  camp  together  to  the  Eogue's  March ! "  exclaimed 
Colonel  Blank,  in  comic  wrath. 

"  I  don't  think  you'd  give  such  an  order,  sir ;  and  if 
you  did,   the  drummers  wouldn't  mind   you.      Nobody 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE  REGIMENT.  245 

would  ever  like  you  again,  if  you  even  spoke  of  such  a 
thing." 

The  colonel  turned,  and  looked  down  at  the  slight, 
bright-eyed  girl  who  thus  dared  to  reprove  and  warn 
him.  She  was  very  pale,  and  trembled  with  nervous 
excitement ;  but  her  front  was  radiant  with  truth  and 
courage,  and  her  lips  were  set  in  the  look  that  Joan  of 
Arc  might  have  worn  as  she  walked  to  her  death  for  the 
cause  she  had  espoused. 

Colonel  Blank  read  the  high  heart  in  that  fair  young 
face  ;  and,  man  like,  longed  to  prove  it. 

"  Come,  then,  girl,"  said  he,  with  affected  harshness, 
"it  is  you,  after  all,  who  are  responsible  for  this  breach 
of  discipline  ;  it  is,  therefore,  you  who  should  be  pun- 
ished. Say  that  I  excuse  Captain  Windsor  from  all  con- 
sequences of  his  fault,  —  will  you  bear  them  for  him  ?  " 

"  Can  I  ?  May  I  ?  What  will  be  done  to  me  ?  "  asked 
the  vivandiere,  earnestly,  while  a  faint  flush  of  mingled 
eagerness  and  apprehension  stained  her  cheek. 

"  Of  course  you  may,  if  it's  right  you  should.  And 
as  for  what  the  penalty  shall  be  —  "  The  colonel  paused 
to  furtively  watch  the  anxious  but  unwavering  face. 
"  Let  me  see.  A  public  reprimand  would  hardly  be 
sufficient  in  your  case.  A  little  girl  doesn't  mind  being 
reproved,  as  a  man  does.  You  might  be  shut  up  in  the 
guard-house  two  or  three  days  on  bread  and  water. 
You'd  be  alone  at  night,  and  have  no  light,  you  know." 
21  * 


246  DORA  DARLIXG: 

"  I  shouldn't  mind  that  at  all,  sir,  or  the  bread  and 
water  either,"  exclaimed  the  young  heroine. 

"  No  ;  a  better  plan  would  be  to  send  you  back  to  that 
aunt  whom  you  told  me  of.  The  woman  you  ran  away 
from,  I  mean.     I'll  send  you  back  to  her." 

The  look  of  anxiety  deepened  into  one  of  horror. 

"  O,  sir,  won't  anything  else  do  ?  " 

"  No.  If  you  take  other  people's  burdens  on  your 
own  shoulders,  you  must  expect  to  bear  them.  But  you 
have  your  choice  still.  You  may  either  suffer  for  Cap- 
tain Windsor  in  this  manner,  or  you  may  leave  his  affair 
in  my  hands,  as  you  would  better  have  done  from  the 
first.  You  needn't  hurry.  Come  to  my  tent  in  an  hour, 
and  let  me  know." 

"  Stop,  sir,  please ;  I'd  rather  tell  you  now.  My 
mind  is  quite  made  up,  and  will  not  change.  I  will  go 
back  to  aunt  Wilson," 

"You  will?  But  how  can  I  be  sure  you  will  go  to 
her,  even  if  you  leave  camp?" 

"  Because  I  shall  promise  to  do  so,"  said  the  child, 
simply. 

Colonel  Blank  looked  again  at  his  vivandiere,  with 
keen  and  suspicious  eyes  ;  but  on  that  placid  brow,  and 
in  those  lustrous  eyes,  lay  no  shade  of  duplicity — on  those 
still  lips  no  coward's  tremor.  And  still,  man  like,  he 
searched  her  heart. 

"  I  shall  send  back  Picter  at  the  same  time,"  said  he. 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  247 

* 

It  will  be  better  for  you  to  have  a  companion,  and  he's 
not  of  much  use  here." 

"  No,  indeed,  sir,  I  wouldn't  take  him  on  any  account. 
He's  a  servant,  you  know,  and  they'd  treat  him  dread- 
fully if  he  went  back.  It  would  be  very,  very  cruel. 
You'll  not  do  that,  sir  —  will  you?" 

"  Yes.  If  you  go,  he  shall  go  ;  and  I'll  send  you 
both  under  a  flag  to  camp  Bartow,  so  as  to  be  sure  Pic 
don't  run  away  on  the  road,"  said  the  colonel,  savagely. 

Dora  looked  at  him  with  indignant  astonishment. 

"  Why  will  you  do  so  ?  "  asked  she  ;  "  Picter  has  done 
no  harm." 

"  No,  but  you  have.     I  return  him  to  punish  you." 

"  But  that  isn't  fair  at  all,"  cried  Dora,  passionately. 
"  You  can  do  as  you  like  about  me  ;  if  you're  not  satisfied 
with  sending  me  to  my  aunt,  you  may  shut  me  up  in  the 
guard-house  first,  but  you  haven't  the  least  right  in  the 
world  to  meddle  with  Pic,  and  you  shan't." 

"And  —  I  —  shanH  !  Did  I  understand  you  to  say 
those  words,  vivandiere  ?  "  inquired  the  colonel,  drawing 
himself  up  in  simulated  anger. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  did  say  so.  It  wasn't  proper,  and  I 
shouldn't  have  said  it  if  I  had  been  the  daughter  of  the 
regiment  still ;  but  now  —  " 

"No  ;  the  daughter  of  the  regiment  never  says  'shan't' 
to  the  colonel." 

A  merry  quaver  in  the  voice  struck  on  Dora's  ear. 


248  DORA    DARLING: 

She  looked  up  quickly,  but  the  face  of  the  colonel  was  as 
cold  and  stern  as  before. 

"  Now,  Dora,"  said  he,  slowly,  "  suppose  that  I  con- 
clude to  do  just  this  thing  :  to  send  you  and  Picter  to  the 
first  rebel  station,  and  let  Captain  Windsor  go  free. 
What  can  you  do  about  it,  and  what  will  you  say  about 
it?     Stop,  now,  and  think." 

"  I  don't  want  to  think,  sir.  I  don't  suppose  I  could 
do  anything  to  prevent  it,  because  you  are  a  strong  man, 
with  a  great  many  soldiers  to  do  all  you  tell  them  to. 
But  God  is  just  as  much  stronger  than  you,  as  you  are 
than  me  ;  and  he  will  never,  never  let  you  be  so  wicked 
and  so  cruel,  or,  if  he  does,  he  will  punish  you  for  it. 
O,  sir,  you  can  do  nothing  half  so  bad  to  Picter  or  to  me, 
as  the  feelings  God  will  put  in  your  heart  will  be  to  you." 

"  What  sort  of  feelings,  Dora?" 

"  Shame  and  sorrow  ;  and,  O,  such  a  dreadful  wish 
that  you  could  go  back  and  do  it  over,  and  such  a  dread- 
ful feeling  that  you  never  can  !  " 

"  What  do  you  know  of  such  remorse  as  this,  child?  " 
asked  the  colonel,  in  astonishment,  as  he  marked  the  in- 
tensity of  emotion  in  the  young  face  uplifted  to  his  own. 

"  I  killed  my  linnet  because  he  Avouldu't  eat  out  of  my 
hand,"  said  Dora,  in  a  low,  quick  voice,  while  her  eyes 
sank,  and  the  color  burned  fiercely  upon  all  her  face. 

"And  you  feel  that  way  about  it?"  persisted  the 
colonel. 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE   REGIMENT.  249 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  don't  think  I  could  ever  have  been  happy 
any  more  ;  but  after  a  while,  when  I  had  asked  and 
asked,  and  mother  had  asked  for  me,  God  forgave  me." 

"  How  did  you  know  that?  " 

"  O,  by  my  feelings.     I  knew  right  off." 

"And  I  suppose  He  would  forgive  me  too,  after  a 
while,"  suggested  the  colonel. 

Dora  solemnly  shook  her  head. 

"  I  don't  think  so,  sir.  Picter  is  a  man,  and  a  man  is 
a  great  deal  more  than  a  linnet  —  " 

"  Gela  depend"  murmured  the  colonel. 

"What,  sir?" 

"  Nothing,  child." 

"You'll  not  send  Picter  back?"  recommenced  Dora, 
in  a  moment. 

"I'll  think  of  it." 

"  Please  tell  me  now." 

"  And  why  now  ?  "  / 

"  I  should  like  to  know,  if  you  please,  sir.'* 

"  So  that  you  may  warn  him,  and  help  him  off?  " 

Dora  made  no  reply. 

"  Come,  child,  the  truth.  Was  that  what  you  meant 
to  do?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  you  dare  tell  me  of  it,  you  audacious  mutineer. 
Do  you  know  the  brightest  idea  I  ever  had  in  my  life  ?  " 

"  No.  sir." 


250  DORA   DAELINQ. 

"  It  was  changing  your  name  to  Dora  Darling.  Now, 
be  off  with  you  to  your  hospital,  and  say  not  one  word 
about  this  to  any  one  before  to-morrow  morning.  I  will 
let  you  know  my  decision  in  the  course  of  the  evening. 
Promise  me  sacredly  to  be  silent." 

"  I  promise,  sir,"  said  Dora,  raising  her  eyes  to  his. 

"  Good  by,  then  ;  "  and  the  colonel,  with  a  beaming 
smile,  turned  abruptly  away  to  resume  his  walk,  while 
Dora,  sorely  puzzled,  returned  to  the  hospital. 

An  hour  or  two  later  the  vivandiere  received,  at  the 
hands  of  the  colonel's  orderly,  a  little  package  containing 
a  handsome  silver  whistle,  wrapped  in  a  bit  of  paper  bear- 
ing this  inscription :  — 

"  The  Reward  of  Mutiny." 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

Dora  easily  understood  from  the  colonel's  present, 
with  its  accompanying  legend,  that  he  cherished  no  very 
severe  intentions  with  regard  either  to  her  or  her  friends. 

Indeed,  in  thinking  over  her  conversation  with  him, 
she  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  had  all  along  exagger- 
ated the  danger  and  his  resentment,  for  the  purpose  of 
inducing  her  to  argue  against  him.  Why  he  should  have 
taken  the  trouble  to  do  this  she  could  not  understand  ;  but 
as  one  day  passed  after  another,  and  she  found  that  nei- 
ther Captain  Karl,  Pic,  nor  herself  met  with  any  un- 
toward fate,  she  was  quite  ready  to  dismiss  her  fears  and 
mentally  thank  the  colonel  for  his  forbearance,  with  no 
further  attempt  to  understand  it. 

Captain  Karl  was  now  so  entirely  recovered  as  to  re- 
sume his  regular  duties  and  his  own  quarters,  as  was 
also  the  private  Merlin,  while  Judson  had  been  forwarded 
to  the  depot  of  rebel  prisoners  at  Columbus. 

Before  leaving  hospital  the  rebel  Kentuckian  had  sought 
an  interview  with  Merlin,  and  the  two  men  finally  parted, 
if  not  in  renewed  friendship,  at  least  in  mutual  forgive- 
ness and  kindly  feeling. 

(251) 


252  DORA   DARLING: 

Dora  was  now  left  with  no  especial  object  of  interest 
under  her  charge,  aUhough  she  attended  to  those  who 
remained  with  the  same  zeal  and  patient  kindness  she 
had  always  shoAvn.  The  hours  in  the  chaplain's  tent 
and  those  spent  in  the  open  air  w-ere  now,  however,  more 
precious  than  ever,  and  she  gradually  extended  her  ram- 
bles, even  when  quite  alone,  considerably  beyond  the 
precincts  of  the  camp. 

One  afternoon,  as  he  stepped  from  the  door  of  the 
hospital,  intending  to  go  to  Mr.  Brown  for  permission  to 
read  a  little,  she  encountered  Picter,  looking  very  myste- 
rious, and  somewhat  puzzled. 

"  I's  jes'  gwine  ter  see  ye,  missy,"  said  he,  in  a  cau- 
tious tone. 

"Was  you,  Pic?  Well,  walk  along  with  me  to  Mr. 
Brown's  tent,  and  we  can  talk  as  we  go." 

"  Le's  go  a  leetle  furder  out  o'  camp.  I  doesn'  know 
who's  long  ears  may  be  a  harkiu'  roun'  here." 

"  Well,  come  this  way,  then,"  assented  Dora,  good- 
humoredly,  as  she  turned  down  a  narrow  lane  between 
the  tents,  leading  to  the  outskirts  of  the  camp. 

Picter  w^alked  beside  her,  apparently  buried  in  the 
deepest  of  reveries. 

"Well,  Uncle  Pic,  what  have  you  got  to  tell  me?" 
asked  Dora,  at  length,  finding  the  silence  not  likely  to  be 
broken  by  her  companion. 

"  Well,  missy,  I  doesn'  jus'ly  know  myse'f.  I  doesn 
understan'  de  matter  ;  dat  am  de  truf." 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF   THE  REGIMENT.  253 

"  If  it  is  something  about  me,  you  had  better  tell  right 
out  all  you  know,  and  perhaps  I  can  help  you  to  under- 
stand it,"  suggested  Dora. 

"  Dat  ar's  de  bej-ry  idee  dat  fotcht  me  here,  missy,  an' 
yit  I  doesn'  know  but  I's  an  old  fool  to  pay  any  'tent  ion 
to  de  matter  at  all.  Well,  honey,  de  long  an'  de  short  ob 
it  is,  ef  we  'eludes  it's  a  sell,  w'y,  we  needn'  go." 

"Go  where,  Pic?" 

"  Lookin'  arter  Mas'r  Tom." 

"  Tom  !     Have  you  heard  from  him  ?  " 

"Can't  tell  'xactly,  missy.  Las'  night  —  or  rudder 
dis  mornin'  —  de  guard  foun'  a  brack  feller  prowlin' 
roun'  dis  yer  camp,  dat,  bein'  'terrogated,  said  he'd  come 
to  see  Picter  Darley.  So  de  guard  send  him  long  to  de 
cook-house  up  dah,  an'  w'en  I  gits  up  dis  mornin'  I  foun' 
um  waitin'  for  me.  It  wor  a  boy  'bout  as  ole  as  you'se'f, 
an'  he  gibs  his  name  as  Bony  party.  But  dat's  all  non- 
sense, fer  I's  seed  a  many  parties  as  was  bonier  dan  he, 
dat  didn'  make  no  'count  of  it.  Xow  dere  v»'as  a  feller 
dat  dey  called  de  livin'  skilumton  —  " 

"But  what  did  this  boy  say  about  Tom?" 

"  W'y,  he  came  roun'.  kin'  of  'sterious,  an'  waited  till 
we  was  alone  'fore  he  let  on  what  was  his  bizness  any 
way.  Den  he  wanted  to  know  was  you  in  de  camp  now. 
I  ax  w'y  did  he  want  to  know.  He  say  he  got  arrant 
fer  ye  from  you  brudder.  I  say,  '  Gib  dat  arrant  to  me, 
an'  I  carry  it  to  de  young  missus.'  '  No,'  says  Bony 
22 


254  DORA   DARLIXG: 

party,  '  I  wants  ter  see  her  myse'f  ;  I's  got  a  letter  fur 
'er.'  '  A  letter  from  who  ? '  says  I.  '  From  her  own 
brudder/  says  he  ;  '  an'  if  she  misses  o'  gittin'  it,  she 
won't  neber  forgib  herse'f  de  longest  day  she  hab  to  lib.' 
'  Well,'  says  I,  '  if  I  fotches  you  to  her,  an'  dere's  any 
diviltry  in  your  arrant,  I  reckon  you'll  fin'  de  shortes'  day 
you  hab  to  lib  is  too  long,  for  I'll  fill  it  jes'  as  fiill  o'  tor- 
ment for  ye  as  an  Qgg  is  full  o'  meat.'  Den  he  sot  to 
swearin'  he  wa'n't  up  to  no  tricks,  an'  swore  so  hard  I 
'bout  made  up  my  mind  not  to  trus'  a  word  he  said ;  but 
den  he  showed  me  de  letter,  an'  dough  I  couldn'  read  um, 
I  t'ou't  dere  mus'  be  sumfin'  buekra  'bout  it,  dere  wor 
sech  a  power  o'  curlykews  to  de  ends  o'  de  long-tail  let- 
ters, an'  sech  a  big  splurge  under  de  name  dat  was  at  de 
bottom." 

"But  was  that  name  Tom  Darley?"  asked  Dora, 
eagerly. 

"  Dunno,  missy ;  nor  I  couldn'  'suade  Bony  party  to 
lemme  hab  de  letter  to  fotch  to  you.  Says  he  ain't  gwine 
to  deliber  it  to  no  one  but  you'se'f ." 

"  Well,  where  is  he  ?  Wliy  don't  you  bring  him  to 
me?" 

"  Den,  agin,  he  say  he  couldn'  stop  anoder  night,  an' 
he  mus'  git  outside  de  camp  right  d'rectly  while  he  could  ; 
but  he'd  be  waitin'  fer  you,  jus'  at  sunset,  out  by  de  ole 
dead  pine  on  de  edge  ob  de  wood." 

"  And  the  sun  is  just  setting  now  !     Dear  me,  Picter, 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE  REGIMENT.  255 

why  couldn't  you  have  told  me  faster  ?     Perhaps  it  isp't 
too  late  though,  if  I  go  as  quick  as  I  can." 

"  But  I  isn't  cl'ar  in  my  min'  dat  we'd  best  go  at  all, 
missy." 

"  There's  no  need  of  your  going,  Pic,  but  I  shall  cer- 
tainly. Tom  wouldn't  have  taken  so  much  pains  to  send 
to  me,  unless  there  was  something  important  to  tell.  I 
wouldn't  fail  to  go  for  anything." 

"  An'  won't  ye  ax  de  parson,  or  de  cap'n,  or  some  ob 
dem  dat  knows  more'n  we  does  ?  " 

"  I  would,  but  there's  no  time.  See,  the  sun  is  half 
do^Ti ;  there  isn't  a  moment  to  lose.  But  Pm  not  afraid 
to  go  alone  ;  you  stay  here  till  I  come  back." 

"  Guess  dere's  room  in  de  noose  fer  my  neck  if  dere  is 
fer  yours,  chile,"  returned  Pic,  doggedly,  as  he  quickened 
his  shambling  gait  to  keep  pace  with  the  fleet  footsteps  of 
the  girl. 

They  soon  passed  beyond  the  precincts  of  the  camp, 
and  struck  into  a  wild  ravine  leading  down  the  mountain, 
and  into  the  heart  of  the  thick  wood  at  its  base. 

"  There  is  the  blasted  pine,"  said  Dora,  after  a  silent 
walk  of  nearly  half  a  mile. 

"  Yes,  an'  orful  lonesome  it  looks,"  muttered  Pic,  with 
a  visible  tremor  in  his  voice.  "  Reckon  dat's  de  place 
whar  Ole  Nick  hoi'  his  council  wid  Jeff  an'  de  res'  ob  his 
sarvents  in  de  'federacy.  Reckon,  arter  all,  missy,  we'd 
bes'  back  out  o'  dis  yer  scrape  'fore  it's  too  late." 


256  DORA    DARLING: 

"  I'm  not  afi'aid.  Don't  shiver  so,  Pic,"  replied  Dora, 
rather  nervously,  as  she  paused  to  look  about  her. 

The  scene  was  indeed  a  savage  one.  The  sides  of  the 
ravine,  converging  towards  its  lower  end,  were  as  pre- 
cipitous and  bare  of  vegetation  as  the  walls  of  a  prison. 
Overhead,  the  stormy  sky  hung  low,  with  great  masses 
of  thunder-cloud  resting,  apparently,  upon  the  crags  at 
either  hand.  Below,  the  dense  wood  looked  black  and 
forbidding,  while  the  rising  wind  moaned  fitfully  among 
its  branches.  In  front  of  all  stood  the  giant  pine,  its 
scathed  skeleton  showing  ghastly  white  against  the  dark 
backgi'ound  of  the  forest. 

The  negro,  impressible  as  are  all  his  race,  stood  still, 
and  shuddered  again. 

"  Don'  like  de  look  o'  dat  place,  missy.  Dere  won't 
be  no  luck  in  going  any  nigher  dat  tree,  dat's  sartin. 
T'ou't  I  see  somefin'  brack  a-peekin'  out  dis  berry  minit." 

"And  didn't  we  come  here  to  meet  a  black  man,  you 
silly  old  Pic?"  asked  Dora,  impatiently.  "Come,  it 
will  be  dark  in  a  minute  or  two." 

"  Dat'll  jes  suit  de  powers  o'  darkness  dat  ha'nts  dis 
yer  place,"  groaned  Pic.  "  How  does  yer  know  but  dat 
ar  Bony  party  was  de  debil  hese'f  ?  De  Bible  say  he  go 
roun'  like  a  roarin'  lion  a  lookin'  arter  he  prey." 

"Well,  this  Bonaparte  wasn't  a  roaring  lion  —  was 
he?" 

"  Donno,  missy.  I  neber  seed  one  —  p'raps  he  was 
widout  my  'ceivin'  it,"  said  Pic,  doubtfully. 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  257 

Dora  made  no  reply,  but  walked  steadily  on  toward 
the  wood,  foUowed,  at  a  little  distance,  by  tlie  trembling 

Picter. 

As  they  approached  the  pine,  a  figure  suddenly  glided 
from  behind  it,  and  came  to  meet  them. 

"  Go  'long  wid  ye,  Satan  !  "  yelled  Picter,  taking  to  his 
heels  without  an  instant's  delay ;  "  yer  hain't  cotch  dis 
chile  jes'  yet." 

Dora  paused,  and  turned  a  little  pale  ;  for  the  negro 
who  now  approached  presented  so  repulsive  an  appear- 
ance that  Picter's  panic  extended,  in  some  degree,  to  his 
stouter-hearted  mistress. 

The  face,  intensely  black  in  color  and  brutal  in  form, 
was  disfigured  by  the  loss  of  an  eye,  and  of  a  part  of  the 
upper  lip,  leaving  the  gleaming  teeth  uncovered.  More 
than  this,  the  expression  was  at  once  servile  and  savage, 
although  now  overlaid  with  an  assumption  of  deferential 
good  nature. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  mistress,"  said  the  new  comer, 
glibly.  "  I  was  most  afraid  that  foolish  nigger  wouldn't 
give  you  the  message,  and  Mas'r  Darley  would  be  awful 
disappointed  not  to  see  you." 

"  You  have  a  letter  from  him  for  me  —  haven't  you?" 
asked  Dora,  coldly. 

"  Yes,  miss  ;  here  it  is.  I  had  my  orders  not  to  give 
it  into  no  hands  but  just  your'n." 

"  Yes  ;  wait  a  moment  till  I  read  it."    And  Dora,  anx- 
22* 


258  DORA    DARLIXG: 

iously  unfolding  the  soiled  paper,  read  with  some  diffi- 
culty, by  the  faint  light,  the  following  words  :  — 

"  Dear  Dora  :  I'm  going  further  South  with  my  regi- 
ment. I  have  been  sick,  and  am  not  very  well  now,  and 
don't  believe  I  will  ever  come  back.  I'd  like  ever  so 
much  to  see  you  before  I  go,  more  especially  because  I 
think  I  never  will  see  you  again.  I  darsn't  come  inside 
the  pickets,  but  this  fellow  will  bring  you  to  me  to-night, 
if  you'll  come.  Do  come,  for  I  want  to  see  you  badly. 
"  Your  brother,  Tom.'* 

Dora  read  the  note  twice  through,  and  then  slowly 
folded  it. 

"  Wha's  de  news,  missy?  "  asked  a  voice  at  her  elbow. 

"  0,  you've  come  bact,  Pic,"  said  she,  smiling  a  little. 
"  I  thought  you'd  run  away." 

"  Run  'way,  missy  !  I  s'prised  you  should  t'ink  dat 
way  ob  yore  ole  uncle.  I  jes'  'tired  a  few  steps  so's  not 
ter  oberhear  yore  'munications  wid  dis  gen'l'man." 

"  0,  that  was  it?  Well,  Pic,  this  is  a  letter  from  poor 
Tom ;  and  he's  here  in  the  woods  somewhere,  waiting 
for  me  ;  and  I  must  go  and  speak  to  him.  He's  sick,  and 
he's  going  away  off  with  his  regiment,  and,  perhaps, 
may  never  come  back.     I  am  going  to  meet  him  now.'* 

"  Is  you  sot  on  it,  missy?" 

"  Yes,  Pic,  I've  made  up  my  mind." 


THE   DAUGHTER   OF    THE    REGIMEXT.  259 

"  Well,  honey,  I  tole  yer  'fore  we  sot  out  dat  ef  yer 
was  sot  on  piittin'  yore  head  inter  de  lion  mouf,  he'd  hev 
to  stretch  he  jaws  wide  'nough  ter  take  in  ole  Pic's  poll 
long  wid  it.  De  Bible  say  de  servent  hain't  got  no  call 
ter  be  wiser  den  his  mas'r  ;  an'  ef  my  mist's  is  a  min'  ter 
act  like  a  plaguy  fool,  I  ain't  a  gwine  ter  be  no  wiser." 

"  Then  you  will  come,  too?  " 

"  Yis,  missy.  Go  'head,  Bony  party  ;  fotch  us  inter 
yer  mas'r's  jaws  as  fas'  as  you  can  leg  it." 

"  Go  on,  Bonaparte  ;  we're  all  ready,"  added  Cora, 
who  felt  much  comforted,  in  spite  of  his  grumbling,  with 
Picter's  resolution  to  accompany  her. 

Bonaparte,  on  the  contrary,  looked  as  if  he  found  the 
company  of  the  negro  superfluous  ;  but  he  made  no  com- 
ment, and,  at  Dora's  command,  he  struck  immediately 
into  the  wood,  and  rapidly  led  the  party  into  its  very 
depths. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

The  fading  twilight,  although  barely  sufficient  to  show 
the  little  party  their  path  among  the  trees,  was  yet  enough 
to  bring  out  a  thousand  grotesque  forms  and  shadows 
among  the  gnarled  old  trunks  and  tangled  thickets,  so 
that  total  darkness  would  have  been  less  frightful,  while, 
in  addition  to  the  moaning  and  howling  of  the  wind,  their 
ears  were  now  assailed  by  the  cries  of  numerous  night 
birds  and  the  smaller  beasts  of  prey,  who  still  roam  these 
mountain  regions. 

Picter,  keeping  close  to  his  young  mistress,  ceased  not 
to  mutter  gloomy  prognostics  of  their  approaching  fate, 
mingled  with  reproaches  upon  her  wilfulness  in  placing 
herself  and  him  in  such  a  situation. 

"Don't,  Pic,"  said  Dora  at  last;  "  we  can't  make  it 
any  pleasanter  by  talking  about  it.  Let  us  wait  and  see  ; 
or  you,  if  you  like,  may  go  any  minute." 

"  Now,  honey,  chile,  what  for  ye  go  talkin'  to  ole  nig- 
ger like  dat?"  inquired  Pic,  reproachfully.  "I's  ready 
to  go  to  de  wuss  place  you  eber  hearn  tell  of,  if  you's  a 
mind  fer  to  lead  de  way.  But  sence  I  gib  up  chawin' 
terbacker,  I's  got  a  orful  habit  o'  chawin'  words.  I's 
(260) 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  261 

gittin  ter  be  a  reg'lar  ole  scold,  an'  I  reckon  it's  de  wuss 
habit  o'  de  two.  I's  been  layin'  out  fer  ter  go  inter  de 
■woods  arter  some  spruce  gum  to  set  my  teeth  inter  ;  'spec 
it'll  sweeten  my  temper  'mazin'." 

At  this  moment  Bonaparte  stopped,  and  whistled 
slirilly  three  times,  with  an  interval  between  each.  The 
signal  was  answered  from  a  short  distance,  and  two  fig- 
ures were  presently  seen  advancing  through  the  gloom  of 
the  wood.  Bonaparte  stepped  forward,  and  spoke  in  a 
low  voice  to  the  taller  of  the  two  men,  who  then  advanced 
toward  Dora,  saying,  — 

"  Well,  Miss  Do,  so  you've  come  back  to  see  .your 
friends  —  have  you  ?  " 

"  Dick  !     But  where  is  Tom  ?  " 

"  O,  he's  up  to  the  camp,  safe  enough." 

"  Why  didn't  he  come  to  meet  me?  " 

*^  Well,  he  was  busy,  I  expect ;  or  else  he  didn't  know 
you  was  going  to  be  here." 

"  But,  Dick,  what  do  you  mean?  Tom  wrote  to  me 
to  come.  It  is  to  meet  him  that  I  am  here  !  "  exclaimed 
Dora,  in  much  agitation. 

"  I  know  it,  sis,"  replied  Dick,  putting  an  arm  about 
her  waist,  and  taking  her  hand  in  his  ;  "  but,  you  see, 
Tom's  ideas  didn't  fay  in  with  mine,  no  how.  I  saw  you, 
the  other  night,  on  the  hill  up  there,  sitting  with  a  chap  I 
took  for  the  parson  of  the  regiment." 

"  Dick,  it  was  you,  then." 


262  DORA  DARLING; 

"  Yes,  it  was  me  ;  and  I  set  out  to  shoot  him  and  carry 
you  off  then  ;  but  that  black  scoundrel  there  pretty  nigh 
turned  the  tables  on  me.  You'll  catch  it,  you  old  black 
cuss,  when  I  get  you  home." 

This  parenthesis,  addressed  to  Picter,  who  was  follow- 
ing close  to  Dora,  Avith  a  guard  on  each  side,  met  with  no 
response,  the  luckless  philosopher  being,  for  the  moment, 
so  overwhelmed  with  mortification,  terror,  and  surprise, 
as  to  have  lost  the  use  of  his  nimble  tongue. 

"And  is  Tom  really  in  your  camp?  and  where  is 
father?  and  where  are  you  taking  me?"  asked  Dora, 
indignantly.   . 

"  Don't  get  mad,  sis,  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it 
as  fast  as  I  can,"  retorted  her  cousin,  carelessly.  "  I 
told  Tom,  who  is  '  really  in  camp,'  that  I'd  come 
upon  you  while  I  was  scouting  round  the  Yankee  camp, 
and  that  I  meant  to  try  to  get  hold  of  you.  But  the  fellow 
fired  right  up,  and  said  you  shouldn't  be  touched — that 
you'd  as  good  a  right  to  choose  your  side  as  we  had,  and 
that  you'd  explained  the  whole  matter  to  him  before  you 
parted." 

"  Dear  Tom  ! "  murmured  Dora. 

"  Well,  it's  more  dear  Dora  than  '  dear  Tom '  with 
me,"  returned  Dick.  "  So,  when  I  found  he  wouldn't 
liave  anything  to  do  with  catching  you,  I  set  my  wits  to 
work  to  do  it  for  myself.  Think  I  made  out  pretty  well 
—  don't  you?" 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  263 

*'  Then  it  was  you  Avho  wrote  the  note  ;  and  you  sent 
that  negro  to  bring  me  here  !  It  was  all  a  trap,  a  bad, 
mean  lie,  and  it  was  you  that  did  it !  "  cried  Dora,  pas- 
sionately. 

"  Just  so,  missy.  But  there's  no  use  in  raving  and 
tearing  out  your  hair  about  it.  If  I  ain't  your  brother, 
I'm  your  cousin,  and  that's  most  the  same  ;  and  I  ain't 
going  to  let  no  one  hurt  you,  any  way.  I'm  only  going 
to  carry  you  home  to  ma'am,  and  let  her  keep  you  till 
the  war's  over,  and  you're  a  little  older  ;  and  then  I  reckon 
I  shall  take  you  for  my  old  woman.  I  like  you  first  rate, 
Do,  and  home  didn't  seem  like  home  after  you  run  away. 
It  wasn't  anything  but  you  brought  me  here  ;  and  I  didn't 
enlist  regular,  because  I  ahvays  meant  to  leave  any  time 
when  I  found  you  out.  I'm  a  sort  of  a  scout  and  runner 
to  the  confederate  general  up  here  on  Alleghany,  but  I 
don't  live  in  camp,  though  I  draw  rations.  I've  got  a 
cabin  down  here  a  piece,  and  this  fellow  Clarkson  and 
his  nigger  Bonaparte  live  with  me." 

"Is  there  where  you're  carrying  me  now?"  asked 
Dora,  faintly. 

"  Just  so.  To-morrow  I  shall  go  and  bid  the  general 
good  by  for  a  few^  days,  and  tell  him  not  to  break  his 
heart  before  I  get  back ;  and  then  I  shall  take  you  home, 
and  tell  ma'am,  if  she  knows  what's  good  for  herself,  to 
treat  you  a  little  better  than  she  did  last  time.  There 
shan't  no  one  hurt  a  hair  of  your  pretty  little  head,  Do, 
not  while  I've  got  the  heart  of  a  man  in  my  body." 


264  DORA   DARLING: 

The  last  words  were  spoken  with  more  feeling  than 
Dick  Wilson  had  ever  before  been  known  to  exhibit ;  but 
Dora  still  indignantly  shook  off  the  arm  he  again  tried  to 
put  around  her. 

"It's  very  fine  to  talk  about  not  letting  any  one  hurt 
me,"  said  she.  "  But  it's  you  that  are  doing  me  all  the 
harm  you  can  at  this  very  minute.  If  you  really  care  to 
make  me  happy,  why  don't  you  send  me  back  to  my 
friends?" 

"  I'm  taking  you  to  your  friends  ;  I'm  your  best  friend 
myself,"  interposed  Dick. 

"  No  rebel  is  a  friend  of  mine,"  exclaimed  the  vivandi- 
ere,  proudly ;  "I  am  the  daughter  of  a  Union  regi- 
ment." 

"  And  the  sister  and  cousin  of  rebel  soldiers,"  said 
Dick,  slyly. 

"  I  won't  give  up  my  brother  as  a  brother,  but  I  don't 
love  him  as  a  rebel ;  and  as  for  cousins,  I  care  no  more 
for  them  than  for  any  other  rebels,"  retorted  Dora,  hotly, 
adding,  in  the  next  breath,  "but  father  ;  you  don't  speak 
of  him.     Where  is  father  ?  " 

"  Dead." 

"Dead!  When,  and  how?"  asked  Dora,  in  a  voice 
of  horror. 

"  He  died  of  camp  fever  soon  after  he  joined.  I  didn't 
know  it  till  I  saw  Tom.  You  know.  Do,  it's  what  we've 
all  got  to  come  to,  one  time  or  another,"  began  Dick,  try- 


THE   DAUGUTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  265 

ing  to  remember  some  of  the  remarks  he  had  heard  his 
mother  use  on  similar  occasions  ;  but  his  cousin  gently 
interrupted  him. 

"  Yes  ;  I  know.  Please  don't  talk  about  it,  Dick,  just 
now." 

"  Certain  I  won't,  if  you  don't  want  me  to,"  assented 
the  lad,  considerably  relieved ;  and  not  another  word  was 
exchanged  between  them  until  the  party  reached  the  door 
of  a  small  and  hastily  constructed  shanty  on  the  edge  of 
the  w^ood. 

From  within  the  closed  door  was  heard  a  hoarse 
bark. 

"  Lope's  on  hand,"  remarked  the  man  called  Clarkson. 

"  Yes  ;  I  expect  he  wants  something  to  eat,"  returned 
Dick,  opening  the  door. 

A  large  gray  animal  bounded  out  as  he  did  so,  and 
leaped  upon  Clarkson  with  a  joyful  whine,  suddenly 
changed  to  a  savage  gi'owl,  as  he  caught  sight  of  the 
strangers. 

"  Hebenly  Mas'r,  what  dat?"  exclaimed  Pic,  dodging 
behind  Bonaparte,  while  Dora  sprang  to  her  cousin's 
side. 

"  Don't  be  scart.  Do,"  said  Dick  ;  "  Lope's  an  ugly  fel- 
low enough  to  strangers,  but  he  won't  touch  you  while 
we're  round.  You  mustn't  try  to  stir  out  of  the  cabin  by 
yourself,  though." 

"What  is  it,  Dick?" 
23 


266  DOHA   DARLING: 

"  A  Avolf,  cliild.  Just  such  a  one  as  eat  up  Red  Riding 
Hood  and  her  grandmother,  in  the  story  book." 

*'  But  how  came  he  here  ?     Is  he  tame  ?  " 

"  As  tame  as  it's  the  nature  of  the  beast  to  be.  I 
reckon  they  never  turn  into  lambs,  do  what  you  will  with 
them.  Clarkson  brought  him  up  from  a  whelp,  and  he 
minds  him  pretty  well.  The  rest  of  us  don't  trouble  him 
much." 

"  Walk  in,  miss.  Bony,  you  and  this  other  darky 
fetch  in  some  wood  for  a  fire,  and  get  some  supper  about 
the  quickest.  I'm  as  hungry  as  the  —  as  a  wolf,"  said 
Clarkson,  laughing  loudly  at  the  joke  intended  by  his 
companion. 

The  laugh  was  obsequiously  echoed  by  Bony,  while 
Picter  preserved  a  solemn  and  somewhat  contemptuous 
expression.  The  negroes  then  returned  a  few  rods  into 
the  forest  to  collect  firewood,  while  Dora  and  Clarkson 
followed  Dick  into  the  cabin. 

"  Sit  down  on  this  log.  Do,"  said  the  latter,  as  he  led 
her  to  a  seat.  "  The  old  shanty  ain't  much  of  a  parlor, 
but  we'll  do  the  best  we  can  for  you  while  you  stay." 

A  cheerful  fire  soon  blazed  upon  the  hearth,  and  Bona- 
parte, with  some  unwilling  help  from  Picter,  prepared 
over  it  a  stew  of  chickens,  salt  pork,  army  biscuit,  onions 
and  potatoes,  liberally  seasoned  with  shreds  of  di'ied  pep- 
pers and  sweet  herbs. 

A  pot  of  coffee,  with  sugar  boiled  in  it,  but  no  cream. 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  267 

completed  the  repast ;  and  as  soon  as  it  was  placed  upon 
the  table,  Clarkson,  Dick,  and  Dora  sat  down,  while  the 
two  negroes  and  Lope  remained  in  the  background,  hun- 
grily watching  the  progress  of  the  meal. 

The  stew  was  savory,  the  coffee  potent,  and  Dora  made 
a  far  better  supper  than  she  would  have  supposed  possible, 
under  the  circumstances.  As  her  body  became  refreshed, 
her  courage  and  energy  revived,  and  when  she  rose  from 
the  table  it  was  with  a  firm,  though  undeveloped,  inten- 
tion to  make  her  escape  with  Picter  from  the  hut  before 
morning, 

A  deep  growl  from  Lope,  as  she  walked  towards  the 
door  w4th  the  intention  of  looking  out,  warned  her  of  one 
of  the  obstacles  to  her  attempt. 

"Be  quiet,  you  brute!  He  won't  touch  you,  miss, 
without  you  was  trying  to  get  away,"  said  Clarkson, 
significantly.  "  Now,  boys,"  continued  he  to  the  negroes, 
"  fall  to,  and  polish  off  the  bones  ;  and  you.  Bony,  see 
that  Lope  gets  something.  Not  too  much,  though  ;  he's 
got  to  watch  to-night." 

Picter  and  Dora  exchanged  a  glance,  and  the  quick  wit 
of  each  divined  the  thoughts  of  the  other. 

Dora,  returning  towards  the  fire,  contrived  to  stumble 
as  she  passed  behind  the  log  where  Picter  was  now  seated 
at  supper,  and  saved  herself  from  a  fall  by  catching  at 
his  shoulder.     As  she  did  so,  she  sofily  whispered, — 

"  Keep  awake." 


268  DORA   DARLING: 

"  Take  keer,  missy.  Keep  your  eyes  wide  open, 
honey,"  said  Picter  aloud,  as  he  put  out  his  hand  to  help 
her  to  her  feet.  Dora,  with  a  quick  pressure  of  the  hand, 
signified  that  she  comprehended  the  double  meaning  of 
the  words,  and  then,  fearful  of  attracting  attention,  she 
passed  on,  and  seated  herself  beside  the  fire,  with  her 
back  to  the  room. 

•'  There's  a  shake-down  in  the  loft  for  you,  Do,"  said 
her  cousin,  seating  himself  beside  her.  "  I  got  it  all 
ready  before  I  Avent  after  you." 

"  You  was  very  sure  of  finding  me,"  said  Dora,  rather 
bitterly. 

"  Yes  y  I  reckoned  I'd  put  a  sure  bait  in  the  trap," 
said  Dick,  complacently. 

"  I'm  afraid  it  was  your  own  bed  up  stairs  —  wasn't 
it?"  asked  Dora,  presently. 

"  No.  Clarkson  and  I  mostly  camp  down  here  by  the 
fire,  when  we  ain't  out  all  night  on  the  scout.  The  nig- 
ger has  slept  up  there,  generally,  but  I  put  your  bed  at 
the  other  end  of  the  loft,  and  there  ain't  none  of  the  same 
things  on  it." 

"  And  where  is  he  going  to  sleep  ?  "  asked  Dora,  care- 
lessly. 

"  Out  in  a  kind  of  lean-to  we  put  up,  to  keep  a  horse 
in  occasionally.  There  ain't  any  horse  there  now,  and 
he  and  Pic  can  have  all  the  straw  to  themselves,"  said 
Dick,  yawning. 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  liEGTMEXT.  269 

Dora  had  now  learned  nearly  all  that  she  wished  to 
know.  One  point,  however,  remained  unsettled,  and 
after  a  pause,  she  said,  carelessly,  — 

"  I  should  think  that  wolf  would  run  away  in  the 
night  if  you  turn  him  out  loose." 

"  No,  he  don't.  He  knows  too  well  where  he  gets 
fed.     He  never  goes  far  from  home." 

The  heart  of  the  brave  girl  sank,  as  she  glanced  at 
the  glaring  eyes  of  the  wolf,  who  was  now  gnawing  the 
bones  thrown  to  him  in  a  corner  by  Bonaparte,  whose 
method  of  clearing  the  table  was  more  rapid  than  nice. 

''  He  looks  pretty  ugly,"  said  she,  almost  unconsciously. 

"  Ugly  enough,  any  one  would  find  him  that  came 
round  the  shanty  nights.  Clarkson  has  trained  him  so's 
he's  better  than  any  watch  dog,  and  fiercer  too,"  re- 
turned Dick,  significantly. 

Dora  sat  for  a  few  moments  longer,  looking  thought- 
fully at  the  fire,  and  then  signified  her  desire  to  retire. 

Her  cousin,  lighting  a  torch,  preceded  her  up  the  lad- 
der leading  to  an  unfinished  and  windowless  loft,  where 
he  showed,  with  some  exultation,  a  comfortable  looking 
bed  in  one  corner,  heaped  high  with  dried  leaves  and 
branches  of  sweet  fern,  overspread  by  a  large  army 
blanket. 

"  There,  Do.     I  fixed  your  bed  myself,  and  I  reckon- 
you   might   find   a   worse    one  by   looking   sharp    here 
amongst  the  mountains." 
23* 


270  DORA   DAIiLTXG. 

"  It's  very  nice,  Dick,  and  I'm  much  obliged  to  you," 
replied  Dora,  looking  sharply  about  the  place. 

"There's  no  one  else  to  be  here  —  is  there?"  added 
she. 

"  No.  And  if  you're  a  mind  to,  you  may  push  that 
board  over  the  trap  after  I'm  gone.  I  shall  take  aAvay 
the  ladder,  any  way.     '  Safe  bind,  safe  find,'  you  know." 

"  Well.  You  had  better  go  down  now,  at  any  rate," 
said  Dora,  rather  petulantly ;  for  she  was  both  alarmed 
and  provoked  to  find  that  she  was  thus  to  be  deprived  of 
the  only  apparent  means  of  exit  from  her  prison. 

Dick  grinned  significantly  as  he  placed  the  torch  up- 
right in  a  knot-hole  of  the  rude  floor. 

"  Good  night,"  said  he.  "  I'll  stick  up  the  ladder  time 
enough  for  you  to  come  down  to  breakfast." 

So  soon  as  the  head  of  her  cousin  had  disappeared 
through  the  trap,  Dora  pushed  the  piece  of  plank,  serv- 
ing as  a  door,  into  its  place,  listened  to  hear  the  ladder 
withdrawn,  and  then  sat  down  to  meditate  upon  the 
escape  she  was  stiU  determined  to  eflfect. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

At  the  end  of  ten  minutes  of  reflection,  Dora  sud- 
denly thrust  her  hand  into  the  pocket  of  her  cloak,  then 
into  one  after  the  other  of  those  in  her  skirt,  and  finally 
from  that  of  her  jacket  drew  a  stout,  double-bladed  knife, 
a  present  to  the  little  vivandiere  from  one  of  her  numer- 
ous friends  among  the  men. 

"  Good  !  "  whispered  she  ;  •'  I  was  afraid  I  had  left  it 
at  home.  That  will  do,  I  know.  But  where  can  I 
begin?" 

Placing  her  eye  at  one  of  the  cracks  of  the  floor,  the 
prisoner  next  reconnoitred  the  position  of  her  jailers. 
Clarkson  had  already  thrown  himself  on  the  floor, 
^ATapped  in  his  blanket,  and  was  soundly  sleeping ;  but 
Dick  had  resumed  his  seat  beside  the  fire,  and  seemed 
resolved  to  watch. 

Dora  noiselessly  regained  the  bed  of  leaves  where  she 
had  been  sitting,  and  drawing  from  it  the  thick  double 
blanket,  proceeded  to  cut  it  into  strips  of  about  a  foot  in 
width,  and  six  feet  or  more  in  length.  Carefully  tying 
these  together  in  square  knots,  Dora  found  herself  pos- 
sessed of  a  strong  band  of  woollen,  twenty-four  feet  in 

(271) 


272  DORA   DAJtLIXG: 

length.  At  this  she  looked  for  a  while  with  much  satis- 
faction, and  then,  coiling  it  upon  her  right  arm,  she 
nestled  herself  into  her  nest  of  leaves,  and  resigned  her^ 
self  to  wait  until  Dick  should  be  tired  of  his  watch  and 
fall  asleep.  That  he  should  keep  awake  all  night  after  his 
long  and  active  day,  she  considered  impossible,  although 
she  herself  felt  confident  of  being  able  to  do  so.  And 
while  confirming  for  the  hundredth  time  her  resolution  to 
resist,  at  all  events,  tlie  drowsiness  stealing  over  her,  the 
poor  little  maid  fell  fast  asleep. 

In  about  an  hour,  hoAvever,  she  suddenly  awoke,  gasp- 
ing for  breath,  and  in  total  darkness,  except  where  one 
angry  spot  of  fire  close  beside  her  couch  glared  up  at 
her  like  the  eye  of  a  wild  beast.  It  was  the  resinous 
torch  burned  down  to  the  strip  of  leather  placed  around 
it  as  a  safeguard,  and  expiring  amid  volumes  of  smoke 
combined  from  both  wood  and  leather. 

Dora's  quick  wits  soon  recovered  from  the  be^vilder- 
ment  of  her  sudden  awakening,  and  she  rapidly  and 
noiselessly  extinguished  the  torch  before  thinking  of  any- 
thing else.  Her  next  care  was  to  ascertain  her  cousin's 
condition  ;  but  the  room  below  was  now  in  total  dark- 
ness, and  no  sound  was  audible  except  the  regular  breath 
of  the  sleepers  ;  for  a  few  moments  of  attentive  listening 
satisfied  Dora  that  these  must  be  at  least  two  in  number. 

Before  going  to  sleep,  Dora  had  not  failed  to  carefully 
note  the  position  of  her  bed  in  reference  to  the  othei 


THE  DAUGFTTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  '21^ 

parts  of  the  loft,  and  mentally  resolve  upon  her  precise 
plan  of  action.  She  now,  therefore,  felt  her  -way  care- 
fully along  the  rough  wall  until  she  reached  the  chimney. 

This  chimney,  following  the  usual  traditions  of  back- 
woods architecture,  was  built  upon  the  outside  of  the 
house  ;  but  all  along  the  line  of  contact,  the  boards  of 
the  slight  shanty  had  so  shrivelled  and  warped  under  the 
influence  of  the  unequal  heat,  as  to  leave  large  cracks, 
through  which  the  rough  stones  of  the  chimney  were 
plainly  visible.  Below  one  of  the  largest  of  these  cracks, 
Dora's  sharp  eyes  had  noticed  that  the  wood  was  already 
considerably  decayed,  from  the  combined  effect  of  heat 
and  moisture  ;  and  at  this  spot  she  had  resolved  to  make 
her  desperate  attempt  to  esca^. 

With  the  strongest  blade  of  her  pocket-knife  she  now 
begun  cutting  away  the  soft  pine  as  rapidly,  and  at  the 
same  time  as  cautiously,  as  possible,  often  pausing  to  lis- 
ten for  any  movement  below,  as  well  as  to  take  breath 
for  renewed  effort.  The  work  soon  became  laborious, 
and  the  progress  seemed  painfully  slow;  but  still  the 
little  hands  toiled  bravely  on,  and  the  stout,  heart  beat 
higher  and  higher,  as  through  the  increasing  aperture 
the  pure  night  air  stole  sweetly  in,  and  the  bright  stars 
looked  encouragement. 

An  hour  passed  thus,  and  Dora,  trembling  from 
fatigue  and  excitement,  saw  that  this  part  of  her  task 
was  ended.     The  hole  was  of  ample  size  to  allow  her 


274  DORA   DARLING: 

slender  figure  to  pass,  and  was  not  more  tlian  half  the 
length  of  her  rope  from  the  ground. 

The  next  step  was  to  fasten  this  rope,  or  rather  band, 
securely  inside.  To  do  this,  Dora  returned  to  her  bed, 
and  standing  upon  it,  felt  carefully  along  the  wall  for  a 
stout  hook  that  she  had  noticed  driven  there,  probably  by 
Bonaparte  for  some  purpose  of  his  own.  To  this  she 
firmly  attached  one  end  of  the  strip  of  woollen  still 
wound  upon  her  arm,  and  satisfied  herself  that  both 
were  strong  enough  to  bear  more  weight  than  she  should 
impose  upon  them.  She  next  made  her  cloak  into  a 
bundle,  and  tying  it  to  the  other  end  of  the  strip,  low- 
ered it  silently  to  the  ground,  and  then,  creeping  through 
the  hole,  commenced  her  'own  descent.  This  was  soon 
accomplished,  although  not  without  pain  and  terror,  and 
Dora,  with  a  throbbing  heart,  found  herself  once  more 
at  liberty.  Detaching  her  cloak  from  the  rope,  she  next 
cut  off  the  latter  as  high  up  as  she  could  reach,  thinking 
it  might  prove  useful  in  releasing  Picter,  whom  she  was 
resolved  not  to  leave  behind. 

Gliding  cautiously  round  the  end  of  the  house,  she 
approached  the  shed  where  she  had  been  told  he  was 
to  spend  the  night.  The  door  stood  partially  open,  and 
as  Dora  came  in  sight,  the  ungainly  form  of  the  negro 
was  seen  in  the  starlight,  creeping  cautiously  out  to  meet 
her. 

"Bress  you,  missy,  so  you  done  got  cl'ar  widout  de 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE  REGIMENT.  275 

help  of  dis  ole  feller,"  whispered  he,  joyfully.  "  I's  ben 
hard  to  work  myse'f,  an'  hain't  but  jes'  got  frew,  else  I'd 
'a  been  roun'  ter  help  ye.  Now,  come  ;  we'm  got  to  make 
tracks  'fore  mornin." 

"  Yes,  come,  as  fast  as  you  can.  That  horrid  wolf 
may  be  after  us  any  minute,"  replied  Dora,  in  the  same 
tone,  looking  fearfully  about  her. 

"  Hi !  Guess  dat  ar  varmint  ain't  gwine  ter  trouble  us 
much.  I  'sposed  ob  him,"  chuckled  the  negro.  "-An' 
here's  toder  varmint,  de  one  what  turned  agin  he  own 
kind,  an'  led  anoder  nigger  into  a  trap,"  continued  Pic, 
severely,  as  he  stooped  to  raise  on  his  broad  shoulders  a 
shapeless  mass  of  something  lyin^  under  a  tree  at  some 
little  distance  ftom  the  hovel. 

"Why,  what  is  that?  "  asked  Dora,  in  great  astonish- 
ment. 

"  De  varmint  called  Bony  party,  missy,"  grunted  Pic- 
ter,  as  he  settled  his  load  upon  his  back. 

"  Now,  come  'long,  missy.  I  know  de  way  fus'  rate. 
Tell  yer,  dis  chil'  kept  he  eye  skun  w'en  dey  was  fotchin' 
us  in  ;  an'  while  de  star  shine  dis  a  way,  dey'll  be  better 
dan  daylight  fer  show  de  path." 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  this  poor  fellow, 

Pic  ?    And  why  don't  he  move  or  call  out  ?  "  asked  Dora, 

pityingly,  as  they  moved  rapidly  forward  among  the  trees. 

"  I's  gwine  to  make  a  'xample  ob  him  ter  all  traitors, 

missy,"  said  the  negro,  sternly.     "  An'  he  don'  sing  out, 


270  DOJiA  DAnirxG: 

nor  squirm,  'cause  he  tied  up  jes'  like  a  lamb  for  de 
sla'ter,  as  de  good  book  say,  on'y  dis  ar  am  more  of  a 
young  wolf  dan  a  lamb.  An'  as  fer  siugin'  out,  he  got 
he  mouf  too  full  ob  stick  to  'varse  much." 

"  But,  Picter,  what  do  you  mean  by  making  an  exam- 
ple of  him  ?     You  mustn't  kill  him." 

"  Yes,  I  will,  missy,  sure  an'  sartain,"  replied  Pic, 
decidedly.  "  I  hain't  got  no  'pinion  ob  de  breed,  an' 
I  ain't  gwine  ter  hab  it  kep'  up.  De  nigger  dat  'ould 
sell  anoder  nigger  ter  be  licked  to  def,  as  dem  Wilsons 
'ould  'a  licked  me,  am  too  mean  ter  sell  ter  a  Georgy 
trader,  an  Ps  a  gwine  ter  red  the  aarth  on  him." 

"  Picter,  I  never,  never  will  consent  to  your  killing  this 
man  in  cold  blood.  I  forbid  it !  "  exclaimed  Dora,  paus- 
ing, and  speaking  in  a  more  peremptory  tone  than  she 
had  ever  used  before. 

Picter  jogged  doggedly  on,  and  made  no  reply.  TTitli 
a  bound  Dora  overtook  him,  and  laid  a  hand  upon  his 
arm. 

"  Stop,  and  answer  me,  Picter,  before  we  go  any 
farther.  Will  you  give  up  your  plan  of  killing  this 
man?" 

"  No,  missy,"  replied  the  negi'o.  "  I  hates  ter  go  agin 
ye  any  way ;  but  dis  time  I's  made  up  my  min'  what  ter 
do,,  an'  I  reckon  Pll  'bide  by  it." 

"  And  you  will  murder  him?  " 

"  Pll  exercute  him  for  a  traitor,  missy." 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE   REGIME  XT.  277 

"  Then  my  mind  is  made  up,  too.  I  shall  go  straight 
back  to  the  shanty,  call  Dick  and  the  other  man,  and  tell 
them  just  where  yon  are  and  what  you  are  going  to  do. 
They'll  chase  you,  and  perhaps  kill  you,  and  they'll  keep 
me ;  bnt  it  is  all  I  can  do  to  prevent  this  murder,  and  I 
shall  do  it.  Speak  quick,  and  say  if  you  keep  the  same 
mind.     In  a  minute  it  will  be  too  late." 

As  she  spoke,  she  sprang  backward,  and  stood  out  of 
reach,  and  out  of  sight  of  the  negro,  who,  pausing  where 
he  stood,  in  the  middle  of  a  little  star-lit  glade,  looked 
anxiously  back  at  her. 

''  Now,  missy,"  began  he,  coaxingly,  as  he  caught  sight 
of  a  slender  figure  within  the  shadow  of  the  wood, 
''wha's  de  use  ob  good  frien's  like  we  fallin'  out  dis 
fashion?  I  w^asn'  gwiue  ter  'spatch  de  feller  'fore  you 
face  an'  eyes.  I'll  wait  till  we  gets  nigh  home,  an'  den 
you'll  go  'long  forrad  an'  neber  know  noffin'  'bout  w'at 
comd  ob  'im." 

"  No,  Picter.  You  must  promise  me  not  to  hurt  him 
in  any  way,  and  to  let  him  go  as  soon  as  is  safe  for  our- 
selves, or  I  shall  do  as  I  said,"  returned  Dora,  firmly. 

"  Now,  chile,  dat's  w'at  I  calls  contrairy.  Wat  dif- 
f  ence  does  it  make  ter  you  weder  dere's  a  Bony  party 
more  or  a  Bony  party  less  in  de  worl'  ?  You  won't  neber 
see  him  agin." 

"  No  ;  but  I  shall  see  you,  Picter,  and  I  never  could 
bear  to  look  at  you,  or  speak  to  you,  or  even  think  of 
24 


278  DORA   DARLING^ 

you,  if  you  did  this  cruel,  dreadful  thing.  I  should 
almost  hate  you,  Picter." 

"  Sho  !  Should  you  dat,  missy?"  inquired  the  negro, 
with  jnore  concern  than  he  had  yet  exhibited.  "  Dat 
'ould  make  old  Pic  feel  awful  bad." 

"  And  so  it  would  make  me  feel  bad ;  but  it  would  be 
so,  I  am  sure.     I  couldn't  help  it,"  said  Dora,  earnestly. 

Pic  dropped  his  burden  to  the  ground,  and  Dora  now 
saw  by  the  feeble  light  that  the  unfortunate  captive  had 
been  enveloped  in  some  large  cloth  or  bag  completely 
shrouding  the  outline  of  his  form. 

"  Missy,  Ps  got  sumfin'  ter  say  to  you,"  began  Pic, 
limping  towards  the  spot  where  she  stood. 

"Wait,  then,  and  promise  not  to  try  to  catch  me,  be- 
fore you  come  any  nearer." 

"  Lor',  missy,  I  hasu'  got  no  fonts  ob  it.  All  I  wants 
is  a  'sultation." 

*'  You  promise  not  to  touch  me?  " 

"  Yes,  missy,  I  promises." 

"Well,  then,  what  is  it?"  asked  the  girl,  allowing 
her  companion  to  approach  close  to  her. 

"  W'y,  missy,  we  can  make  a  kin'  ob  a  compermise,  I 
reckon.  Sence  you's  so  dead  sot  agin  it,  I'll  gib  up  takin' 
de  life  ob  de  varmint,  but  I  wants  ter  gib  him  a  scare 
dat  '11  be  mos'  as  bad,  I  reckon." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  You'H  see,  missy.     I  hasn'  jes'  made  up  my  o\^^l 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF    THE  REGIMENT.  279 

miu'  ;  but  I'll  promise,  sure  an'  fas',  dat  I  wou't  kill 
him." 

"  Well,"  said  Dora,  reluctantly,  "  you  must  promise 
that,  at  any  rate,  and  if  the  other  plan  is  cruel,  you  must 
change  it." 

"  We  shan't  quarrel  'bout  it,  missy ;  but  it  won't  do 
ter  stop  here  much  longer.  We'll  go  ahead  a  piece,  an 
w'en  de  daylight's  up  I'll  'spose  ob  him." 

Picter,  as  he  spoke,  bent  over  the  burden  at  his  feet, 
and  began  to  raise  it  upon  his  shoulders,  when  he  was 
interrupted  by  a  low  exclamation  from  Dora. 

"  Wha's  de  matter,  chile  ?     Am  dey  comin'  ?  " 

"What  is  that  noise?     Hark  !     There  it  is  again  !  " 

Both  listened  eagerly,  and  through  the  hushed  air  of 
the  forest  night  was  distinctly  heard  the  sound  of  a  large 
body  brushing  through  the  undergrowth  in  the  direction 
of  the  hut.  This  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  a  snarling 
bark,  followed  by  an  angry  howl. 

"It's  the  w^olf!"  exclaimed  Dora,  in  much  alarm. 
Picter  let  fall  the  unwieldy  burden  already  upon  his 
shoulders,  and  crouched  in  terror  beside  it. 

"  0  Lor'  I  "  gasped  he.  "  It's  he  ghos',  fer  sure.  It's 
a  comin'  fer  ha'nt  us,  an'  I's  noffin'  bud  a  pore  ole  sinner 
as  full  ob  handles  fer  de  debil  as  a  hedgehog  's  fuU  ob 
quills.  I  shan't  neber  get  shet  ob  him  in  dis  worl',  dat's 
cl'ar." 

"  Nonsense,  Pic.     There   ain't   any  such  thing  as  a 


280  DORA   DARLING. 

wolf's  ghost,''  exclaimed  Dora,  impatiently.  "*  Eitlier 
Lope  wasn't  really  killed,  or  it's  some  other  wolf.  Any 
way,  he's  coming  after  us.     Hark  !  " 

The  sounds  of  pursuit  indeed  indicated  that  the  ani- 
mal, whatever  he  might  be,  was  close  at  hand  ;  but  still 
Picter  remained  crouched  in  the  middle  of  the  little  glade, 
a  victim  to  superstitious  terror. 

"  I  hung  de  varmint  wid  my  own  ban's,"  muttered  he. 
"  Cotcht  um  nappin,'  an  got  um  noose  roun'  um  neck 
'fore  he'd  time  'o  say  he  prayers.  Strung  um  up,  tie  urn 
rope,  an'  now  —  " 

"  But,  Pic,  we  must  defend  ourselves !  Quick  !  he's 
here  !  Haven't  you  any  knife  or  anything  ?  "  cried  Dora, 
springing  to  the  negro's  side,  and  seizing  him  by  tlie  arm. 

"  Ko  knife,  no  gim,  no  silber  bullet.  Wha's  de  use  o' 
fightin'  de  debil,  missy?  "  groaned  he. 

Dora,  without  further  parley,  hastily  untied  the  cloak 
that  she  carried  in  a  bundle  -over  her  shoulder,  and 
opened  the  strongest  blade  of  the  knife  which  had  once 
before  that  night  done  her  so  good  service. 

"  If  you  won't  do  anything  but  talk  that  way,  I  shall 
have  to  fight  the  wolf  myself,"  said  she,  quietly. 

"  'Tain't  no  wolf,  missy  ;  bud  PU  do  de  bes'  I  can  agin 
it,"  said  Pic,  gloomily,  as  he  struggled  to  his  feet  and 
grasped  more  firmly  a  stout  oaken  cudgel  that  he  had 
appropriated  at  the  shanty. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

"  Look  there  !  "  exclaimed  Dora,  in  a  low  voice,  point- 
ing to  the  thicket  where  she  had  been  standing  a  moment 
before.  Out  of  the  darkness  now  glared  two  balls  of 
greenish  light,  shifting  uneasily  as  the  eyes  of  a  human 
being  met  their  furtive  glance.  The  next  instant  they 
were  gone. 

"  He'm  gittin'  roun'  to  'tack  us  in  de  back,"  suggested 
Pic,  beginning  to  feel  a  little  ashamed  of  his  panic. 

"  Turn  your  face  that  way,  and  put  your  back  to 
mine,"  said  Dora,  hurriedly.  "  Take  this  knife,  if  you 
haven't  any,  and  I'll  hold  my  cloak  ready,  if  he  springs, 
to  blind  him  till  you  can  catch  him  by  the  collar  —  he's 
got  a  collar." 

"  K  he  Lope,  he  got  collar,  an'  plaguy  tight  neck 
hankercher,  'sides,  fer  I  fitted  um  wid  one  not  more'n  a 
hour  ago,"  mumbled  Picter,  doing  as  he  was  ordered. 
'•'  Stan'  on  dis  yer  karkidge  ob  de  Bony  party,  missy ; 
it'U  make  you  more  my  height." 

"  No,  indeed,  Picter.  The  poor  creature  must  be 
nearly  smothered  now.  Haven't  you  any  sort  of 
weapon  ?  " 

24  *  (281) 


282  DORA   DARLING: 

"  Dere,  now !  Here's  de  ole  knife,  shore  'nough. 
T'out  I'd  los'  urn." 

"  I'm  so  glad  !  Quick  !  He'll  be  on  us  in  a  minute  ! 
O,  Pic ! " 

This  cry  of  terror  was  extorted  from  the  stout  heart 
of  the  vivandiere,  by  the  sudden  movement  of  the  wolf, 
which,  after  entirely  skirting  the  little  glade,  and  finding 
no  opportunity  of  springing  upon  his  prey  at  unawares, 
broke  into  open  fury,  and,  dashing  through  the  under- 
brush, stood  open-mouthed  and  eager-eyed  before  them, 
growling  and  snapping  his  fangs,  while  yet  hesitating  to 
make  the  direct  attack. 

"  Um  ghos'  couldn'  make  sech  a  debil  ob  a  noise  wid 
um  teef,"  whispered  Pie. 

The  creature,  opening  wide  his  jaws,  uttered  a  savage 
howl,  and  dashed  across  the  glade  so  close  to  the  little 
group,  that  his  long  hair  brushed  Dora's  dress.  Darting 
back  as  suddenly,  he  made  a  savage  leap  at  her  throat, 
and  would  have  seized  it,  had  not  the  vivandiere,  with  a 
sudden  and  decided  movement,  enveloped  the  head  and 
neck  of  the  beast  in  the  folds  of  the  cloak  held  ready 
upon  both  her  arms  for  this  very  purpose. 

The  wolf,  growling  and  snapping  furiously,  bounded 
backwards,  and  sought  to  tear  away  the  covering  with 
his  paws  ;  but  Dora,  twining  her  arms  convulsively  about 
his  neck,  cried,  breathlessly,  — 

"  O,  Pic,  Pic,  be  quick !  Kill  him  before  he  gets 
away." 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  283 

With  an  inarticulate  howl,  as  ferocious  and  as  cruel  as 
that  of  the  wolf  himself,  the  negro  threw  himself  heavily 
upon  the  creature,  and  plunged  his  long  sheath-knife 
again  and  again  into  his  body.  With  a  dying  struggle, 
the  wolf  tore  himself  out  of  Dora's  grasp,  leaped  wildly 
up,  and  fell  lifeless  at  her  feet. 

Picter  snatched  away  the  cloak,  and  bent  over  the 
carcass. 

"  Look  a'  here,  now !  "  said  he,  seizing  an  end  of  rope 
that  dangled  from  its  neck,  "  dere's  de  berry  noose  dat  I 
lay  roun'  'im  neck  up  dere  in  de  shanty.  De  ole  sar- 
pent  cut  hese'f  down  somehow,  or  p'raps  de  debil  did  it 
for  um.  Won'er  how  many  libes  he  got,  any  way. 
Reckon  we'll  make  shore  work  ob  him  dis  time.  Cut 
he  head  off." 

Deliberately  seating  himself  astride  the  body  of  the 
wolf,  Picter  proceeded  to  carry  his  idea  into  effect. 
Presently  he  raised  aloft  the  gory  head,  and  viewing  it 
complacently  by  the  starlight,  said,  — 

"  Dere,  now.  See  ef  dat  '11  hole  you  quiet  till  we  gits 
inter  camp.     'Specs  it  '11  git  growed  agin  as  soon  as  dat." 

Dora,  meantime,  had  retreated  to  the  edge  of  the  wood, 
and  seated  herself  beneath  a  large  tree.  The  danger 
over,  strength  and  courage  failed  her  together,  and  in 
the  darkness  she  did  not  check  the  tears  that  rained 
down  her  pallid  cheeks. 

"Missy!     Whar  be  you,   missy?     Want  ter  see  um 


284  DORA   DARLING: 

head  ob  Ole  Nick?  De  Bible  say  we'in  got  ter  cut  off 
whateber  part 's  de  wickedes',  les'  we  git  souse,  hide  an' 
horns,  inter  de  brimstone  pon' ;  so's  I's  bin  a  doin'  de  bes' 
I  could  fer  dis  yer  sinner,  wid  cuttin'  off  he  head.  Reckon, 
dough,  dat  won'  sabe  'im." 

''  Make  haste,  Pic,  and  let  us  get  away  from  here," 
said  Dora,  faintly. 

"  Golly,  den,  I  reckon  you  neber  say  a  wiser  word 
dan  dat,"  exclaimed  the  negro,  thro-w^ing  down  the  head 
of  the  wolf,  and  hastily  thrusting  the  bloody  knife  into 
his  pocket. 

"  De  Philustums'll  be  down  on  us  'fore  long,  any  way, 
an'  we  got  two  free  mile  afore  us  yet." 

"  Don't  carry  that  poor  boy  any  further.  Leave  him 
here  till  his  master  comes  up.  He's  punished  enough  by 
what  he's  gone  through  already,"  expostulated  Dora,  as 
Pic  began,  groaningly,  to  raise  his  helpless  captive  once 
more  upon  his  shoulders. 

"  Not  if  I  knows  it,  missy.  Ps  got  my  min'  sot  on 
settlin'  'counts  wid  dis  yer  fellow  my  own  fashion  ;  an' 
I'll  tote  um  from  dis  ter  Jericho,  'fore  I  let  um  go  ; 
'tvv'on'  hender  us  none,  missy.  See  ef  I  don'  trabel  as 
fas'  as  yore  pore  lilly  feet  can  foller.  Bony  party  an'  all." 

Dora,  too  much  exhausted  by  her  late  struggle  for  any 
further  dispute,  said  no  more  ;  and  Picter,  having  at  last 
arranged  his  load  satisfactorily,  struck  into  the  woods  at 
a  pace  really  incredible  to  one  unacquainted  with  his 
immense  streno:th  and  endurance. 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIME^^T  285 

Dora,  liglitly  treading  in  his  footsteps,  kept  close  be- 
hind, glancing  occasionally  over  her  shoulder  with  a 
nervous  terror  of  pursuit. 

An  hour  passed,  and  the  gray  light  of  dawn  came 
creeping  down  through  the  bare  branches  of  the  trees, 
bringing  a  chill  blast  from  the  north.  Borne  upon  it 
came  the  distant  sound  of  the  reveille  from  the  federal 
camp. 

"  Hark  !  Hear  da^den,  missy  !  Don'  dat  soun'  like 
welcome  home  ?  " 

"  Indeed  it  does,  Pic ;  and  I  begin  to  remember  the 
trees  and  rocks  about  here." 

"  Yes,  we'm  mos'  dere ;  but  dere's  somefin'  to  'tend 
to  'fore  we  goes  inter  camp." 

"  You're  not  to  do  anything  cruel  to  that  boy,  you 
know,"  expostulated  Dora. 

"  Lor's,  missy,  don'  be  so  ten'er  ob  dis  ole  cuss  !  "  ex- 
claimed Picter,  petulantly.  "  Don'  de  Bible  hese'f  say 
de  lab'rer  's  got  a  right  to  he  wages  ;  an'  ef  I  hasn' 
aarned  de  right  to  'spose  ob  dis  varmint,  totin'  'im  all  dis 
way  on  my  own  back,  w'y,  we'll  gib  in  de  good  book 
made  a  lilly  mustake  w'en  it  said  that  ar." 

Dora  was  still  meditating  upon  this  bit  of  special 
pleading,  uncertain  just  how  to  answer  it,  when  Picter's 
voice  once  more  aroused  her. 

"  Dere,  missy,  you  knows  dis  yer,  I  reckon." 

Looking  about  her,  Dora  uttered  a  joyful  assent.     Be- 


286  DORA  DARLING: 

fore  her  lay  the  desolate  gorge,  closed  by  the  blasted 
pine  where  she  and  Picter  had  kept  the  rendezvous  with 
Bonaparte,  resulting  in  their  capture. 

The  negro  hastily  advanced  till  he  stood  beneath  the 
pine,  and  then,  with  a  groan  of  relief,  allowed  the  body 
of  the  unfortunate  Bonaparte  to  slip  to  the  ground. 

"  Dere  !  "  exclaimed  he,  straightening  his  back  as  far 
as  practicable,  and  taking  a  long  breath.  "  Eeckon  I  feels 
now  like  dat  ar  feller  mist's  read  'bout  in  de  Bible  one 
day,  dat  was  a  footin'  it  for  de  hebenly  city,  but  was 
awful  hindered  wid  a  big  pack  he'd  got  to  tote  'long 
wdd  'im  ;  but,  'fore  he  know'd  it,  he  come  to  a  gate  or 
sumfin'  dat  was  'chanted,  I  reckon,  for  de  ole  pack  tum- 
bled off,  an'  warn't  neber  seen  no  more." 

"Why,  Pic  —  that's  in  Pilgrim's  Progress  ;  it  isn't 
the  Bible." 

"  Neber  min',  honey  ;  it's  jes'  as  good  for  a  lusteration 
ob  my  meanin',"  returned  the  negro,  pompously.  "  I 
axed  mist's  what  was  in  dat  feller's  pack  ter  make  it  so 
orful  heavy.  She  tole  me  'twor  sin,  an'  dat  dere  w^an't 
noffin'  in  dis  worl'  so  back-breakin'  fer  a  feller  to  tote  as 
sin.  Now,  if  dis  yer,"  —  and  Pic  gave  the  unhappy 
Bonaparte  a  contemptuous  kick,  —  "  if  dis  yer  ain't  a 
bundle  o'  sin  right  cl'ar  frew,  Ps  a  bigger  fool  dan  I 
t'out  fer,  an  dere  ain't  no  two  ways  'bout  de  diffikil'y  o* 
totin'  'um.  Now,  missy,  I  won'er  ef  I  couldn'  trive  ter 
jes'  hitch  all  de  lilly  sins  I's  got  inside  o'  me,  on  ter  dis 
big  bunch  o'  sin,  an'  so  'spose  ob  'em  all  ter  once. " 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  287 

"  I'm  more  afraid,  Pic,  that  you'll  do  something  that 
will  add  to  your  own  sins.  Do  untie  him  now,  and  let 
him  breathe.  We're  so  close  to  our  own  camp  there's  no 
danger." 

"  Dat  ar's  jes  what  I's  layin'  out  ter  do,  missy,"  said 
Pic,  rather  resentfully,  as  he  took  out  his  knife,  and 
slowly  cut  away  the  piece  of  bagging  wound  around 
the  body  of  his  captive  to  make  it  more  easy  of  trans- 
portation. 

This  covering  removed,  showed  the  unfortunate  fel- 
low's limbs  securely  trussed,  much  after  the  fashion  of 
a  fowl  prepared  for  roasting,  and  confined  in  place  by 
sundry  pieces  of  rope,  which  Pic  now  proceeded  to  sever. 
He  then  placed  the  captive  upon  his  feet,  his  back  leaning 
against  the  old  pine. 

Dora,  for  the  first  time,  caught  a  glance  at  his  face, 
and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  mingled  pity  and  terror  as 
she  did  so.  A  bit  of  stick,  placed  across  the  mouth  by 
way  of  gag,  was  carefully  secured  by  a  bandage  tied  at 
the  back  of  the  head.  Above  this,  the  large,  bloodshotten 
eyes  rolled  with  wild  ferocity  over  the  whole  scene,  rest- 
ing at  last  in  angry  terror  upon  the  stolid  features  of 
Pic.  The  deep  color  of  the  skin,  blanched  and  sodden 
by  fatigue  mingled  with  apprehension,  ofiered  a  sufficient 
contrast  to  a  ghastly  streak  of  blood  oozing  from  a  cut 
upon  the  head. 

''  Pic  ! "    exclaimed    Dora,    passionately,    "  it   is   too 


288  DORA  DARLIXG: 

bad !  I  declare  you  shan't  torment  this  poor  creature 
any  more  ;  he's  half  dead  already,  and  wounded,  besides. 
Let  him  go  ;  or,  if  you  won't  do  that,  bring  him  into 
camp,  and  give  him  up." 

"  Yes,  an'  see  'im  slinkin'  off,  nex'  day,  wid  all  de 
news  ob  de  camp,  to  de  enemy.  Ain't  sech  an  ole  fool 
as  dat,  missy.  Wait  lilly  minit,  till  I  blin'  he  ugly  eyes, 
an'  I'll  'xplain  de  needcessity  ob  exercutin'  justice  wid 
'im." 

Taking  a  long  strip  of  the  matting,  Pic,  as  he  spoke, 
tied  it  carefully  over  his  captive's  eyes,  and  then  secured 
his  arms  behind  his  back,  and  tied  his  ankles  together. 

"  Dere,  Bony  party,  you  jes'  stan'  still,  an'  tink  ober  de 
'niquities  ob  your  life  lilly  minit,  an'  by  de  time  I's  got 
back,  I  reckon  you'll  tank  me  kin'ly  for  my  'tention  in 
reddin'  you  ob  it." 

A  smothered  growl  from  the  captive  responded  to  this 
recommendation,  and  Pic,  laughing  inaudibly,  beckoned 
Dora  to  withdraw  a  few  paces  with  him  from  the  tree. 

"  Now,  missy,"  began  he,  when  they  were  out  of  ear- 
shot of  the  unfortunate  Bonaparte,  "  Pll  'xplain  de  plan 
right  straight  out,  an'  den  I  spec's  you'll  lemme  'lone 
w'ile  I  can-ies  um  out.  I's  gwine  ter  make  dat  feller  tink 
he's  got  ter  be  strung  up,  an'  den  Fs  gwine  ter  leave  'im 
to  'fleet  'pon  it,  w'ile  we'm  gone  fer  our  breaksus.  Arter 
dat,  I's  gwine  to  fotch  'im  inter  camp,  an'  let  de  gen'l  hab 
'im  fer  a  specimen  darkey  to  sen'  to  de  Norf.     Dis  is  de 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE  REGIMENT.  289 

on'y  one  I  eber  seed  dat  comes  up  to  he  idees  ob  w'at  a 
darkey'd  ought  ter  be  like." 

"  And  is  that  all  the  harm  you  mean  to  do  him,  really 
and  truly,  Picter  ?  " 

'*  Yes,  missy.  Hopes  yer  ken  trus'  yer  ole  uncle  fer 
not  tell  lies  to  yer,  honey." 

"  O,  yes,  Picter.  If  you  say  so,  I  believe  it,  certainly," 
said  Dora,  hurriedly.  "  I  will  sit  down  here,  and  wait 
for  you.     Hark  !     There's  the  drum  again." 

"  Reckon  it's  parade.  Dey'U  be  sen'in'  out  a  'tach- 
ment  fer  look  up  de  wandyeer  pooty  soon.  I's  got  ter 
hurry  up  my  cakes,  I  reckon." 

"  Yes,  make  haste  ;  I  want  to  get  into  camp." 

"  We'll  hurry  all  we  can,  missy  ;  but  dese  matters  ob 
life  an'  death's  'mazin'  solemn  'fairs,"  replied  Pic,  in  a 
very  distinct  voice,  as  he  re-approached  his  captive. 

"  Now,  Bony  party,  ef  you's  all  ready,  I  is.  Don* 
s'pose  you's  got  more  dan  half  frew  'fleeting  on  de  sins 
ob  you  life,  but  you'd  better  skip  de  res',  and  come  to  de 
cap-sheaf  one,  ob  playin'  spy  an'  traitor  'gainst  'noder 
nigger,  all  ter  help  on  white  folks  dat  'spises  an'  hates  us 
bof.  Bony  party,  you  can  'ford  to  be  hung  here,  for 
w'en  you  gits  whar  you's  gwine,  Satan'U  make  you  one 
ob  de  big  bugs  ob  de  kin'dom.  Dat  ar  las'  sin  was  jes' 
arter  his  own  heart,  an'  yore  shore  ob  your  reward." 

While  speaking.  Pic  had  carefully  knotted  together  the 
lengths  of  rope  used  in  trussing  his  captive  for  trans- 
25 


290  DORA  DARLING: 

portation,  and  constructed  a  running  noose  at  one  end. 
This  he  adjusted  to  Bonaparte's  neck,  drawing  it  so 
closely  as  to  be  very  perceptible  to  the  wearer,  but  not 
so  as  to  choke  him. 

"  Dere,  now,  be  patien'  lilly  minit  lon'er,  an'  you'll  see 
dat  dis  nigger,  dat  you  was  gwine  ter  'liber  to  de  tor- 
menters,  knows  how  to  be  massiful  as  well  as  jus'.  I's 
gwine  to  min'  de  good  book,  dat  say  we  hasn'  no  right 
ter  kill  de  body,  an'  sen'  de  soul  to  hell  all  ter  once.  I's 
g^vine  ter  fix  it  so  dat  you  can  go  jes'  w'en  you's  a  min' 
ter,  an'  tell  yer  mas'r  down  dere  dat  yer  come  'cause  yer 
lub  'im  so  well  yer  couldn'  stop  way  any  lon'er.  Now, 
den,  reckon  dis  yer'll  do." 

While  speaking,  Pic  had  been  searching  the  edge  of 
the  wood  for  a  stout  sapling  of  suitable  length  for  his 
purpose.  Having  selected  one,  he  proceeded  to  cut  it  off 
at  the  root,  and  then  trimmed  the  top,  so  as  to  leave  an 
elastic  pole,  about  three  inches  in  diameter  at  the  base, 
and  ten  feet  in  length.  Resting  the  stouter  end  upon  a 
rock  beneath  the  pine  tree,  he  laid  the  other  in  the  fork 
of  a  young  oak,  about  six  feet  distant. 

"  Dere,  Bony  party,  you  jes'  step  up  on  dat  ar  roos'. 
Lucky  you's  bar'fut  —  isn'  it  ?  Golly  !  I  forgot  you  leg 
tied.  Now,  den,  up  you  goes  !  Kin'  o'  hard  to  balance 
youse'f —  ain't  it  ?  Reckon  you'll  hab  to  take  lessons  ob 
de  ole  rooster,  on'y  dere  ain't  no  time  lef.  Now,  Bony 
party,  lis'eu  to  de  serious  'vice  ob  a  frien'.   You  jes'  clinch 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REGIMENT.  291 

you  toe  tight  roun'  dat  ar  pole,  an'  'tan'  'till  as  if  you  wor 
froze  ;  fer  jes'  de  minit  you  tumble  off,  dat  ar  neckerclier 
o'  yourn  '11  git  so  tight  I  'fraid  it  '11  be  'mazin'  oncomfer- 
ble,  fer  I's  gwine  ter  pull  de  rope  tight,  an'  tie  um  to 
mighty  stout  lilly  tree  back  dere  —  looks  ef  'twor  sot  a 
purpose." 

And  in  fact,  Picter,  after  throwing  the  end  of  the  rope 
over  the  lowest  limb  of  the  pine,  drew  it  so  tight  as  to 
slightly  pull  upon  the  neck  of  the  trembling  captive,  and 
then  turned  it  once  about  the  stem  of  the  little  tree  whose 
position  pleased  him  so  well,  but  neglected  to  secure  it. 

"  Now,  Bony  party,  I's  got  ter  be  gwine,  an'  I  bids 
yer  good  by.  Don'  huny  youse'f  'bout  steppin'  off  de 
pole  ;  you's  welcome  to  roos'  dei'e  jes'  as  Ion'  as  you's  a 
mind  ter ;  an'  I  hopes  you'll  profit  by  de  'tunity  for  'flec- 
tion.    My  'spec's  to  yer  mas'r." 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

PiCTER,  walking  backward  up  the  glen,  absorbed  in 
admiration  of  his  own  ingenious  mode  of  torture,  was 
startled  by  a  hurried  cry  from  Dora. 

*'  Picter,  Picter,  I  say  !  Hurry  !  run  !  They're  com- 
ing !  » 

"  Whar?  Who  does  you  see,  missy?"  gasped  the  be- 
wildered negro,  as  he  suddenly  faced  about,  and  saw  his 
young  mistress  flying  up  the  ravine  as  fast  as  she  could 
get  over  the  ground. 

"  The  men  —  I  saw  the  guns  —  they're  in  the  —  wood 
—  coming  after  us.  Run  !  run  !  "  panted  Dora,  without 
slackening  her  speed. 

Lumbering  along  as  swiftly  as  he  could,  Pic  followed 
in  her  flying  footsteps,  but,  keeping  his  head  turned  over 
his  shoulder,  tumbled  over  a  loose  stone,  and  measured 
his  length  upon  the  ground.  At  the  same  instant  a  rifle 
ball  whistled  through  the  air  where  his  head  would  have 
been  had  he  remained  upright. 

Dora  stopped,  saw  that  her  old  friend  had  fallen, 
wounded  or  dead,  as  she  supposed,  and  rushed  back  as 
fast  as  she  had  fled. 

(292) 


THE    DAUGHTER    OF   THE    REGIMENT.  293 

"Go  'long,  missy,"  whispered  the  prostrate  negro, 
without  stirring.  "  I  isn'  hurt ;  bud  dey'U  tink  I's  done 
for,  an'  won't  min'  me  agin.  Dej  won't  shoot  you,  bud 
dey'U  cotch  you  ef  you  waits.  Cl'ar,  I  tell  yer,  'fore  dey 
comes  up." 

"  0,  Pic,  I  can't.  They'll  bayonet  you,  perhaps,  even 
if  they  do  think  you're  dead.     Can't  you  run  ?  " 

"  No  ;  dey'd  on'y  shoot  agin,  an'  p'raps  hit.  Cl'ar, 
honey.     It's  de  bes'  for  bof." 

Dora,  in  an  agony  of  doubt  and  terror,  looked  down 
the  ra\ane.  Clarkson  and  Dick  were  bursting  from  the 
underbrush  just  beyond  the  old  pine,  beneath  which  Bo- 
naparte still  stood  trembling,  and,  with  a  fierce  cry  of 
triumph,  were  rushing  towards  them. 

"  I  won't  leave  you,  Picter  —  they're  coming  fest," 
said  she,  hoarsely. 

At  that  moment  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs,  rino-ino-  in 
regular  order  along  the  rocky  path  crossing  the  head  of 
the  ravine,  struck  upon  the  eats  of  both. 

"Dere's  de  picket  gwine  out  —  holler,  missy  !  Screech 
yer  pooties' !  "  exclaimed  Pic,  in  an  under  tone. 

Dora,  without  reply,  snatched  from  "her  bosom  the 
silver  whistle  given  her  by  Colonel  Blank,  and  blew 
through  it  a  shrill  succession  of  sounds  in  the  order 
agreed  upon  between  her  and  Captain  Karl,  as  a  signal 
of  danger. 

A  loud  shout  responded  from   above,  and   a  savage 
25* 


294  DORA    DARLING: 

curse  from  below,  as  the  piercing  sounds  and  their  mean- 
ing reached  the  ears  of  the  federal  soldiers  and  the  rebel 
scouts  at  the  same  moment. 

To  both  Dora  replied  with  a  triumphant  blast  upon  the 
whistle,  as  the  well-known  faces  of  a  score  or  so  of  her 
friends,  headed  by  Captain  Karl  and  the  chaplain,  ap- 
peared at  the  head  of  the  ravine.  But  the  joyous  sound 
had  not  died  away  before  the  crack  of  two  rifles  from  the 
wood  below  responded  angrily,  and  two  men  fell  wound- 
ed to  the  earth. 

"  Sergeant  Brazer,  take  a  couple  of  files  of  men,  and 
see  after  those  fellows,"  said  the  captain,  hastily.  "  Fos- 
dick,  have  these  poor  lads  carried  to  the  hospital.  —  Now, 
Dora  Darling,  tell  me,  this  minute,  how  you  came  here, 
and  where  you've  been,  and  how  you  dared  give  us  such 
a  fright.  We  were  just  going  to  look  after  you,  and  the 
whole  regiment  would  have  gone  with  us,  if  they'd  got 
leave." 

But  Dora,  who  first  had  laughed  and  then  tried  to 
speak,  when  she  found  herself  once  more  in  safety,  was 
now  crying  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  Even  her  elas- 
tic courage  and  endurance  were  exhausted  by  the  scenes 
of  the  night  and  morning,  and  the  heroine  gave  place  to 
the  little  girl,  who  longed  for  nothing  so  much  as  her 
mother's  arms. 

Mr.  Brown  quietly  seated  himself  upon  the  ground  be- 
side her,  and  drew  her  head  upon  his  breast.    "  Lie  there, 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE  REGIMENT.  295 

Dora  Darling,  and  cry  all  you  will,"  whispered  he,  ten- 
derly. - 

Captain  Karl  posted  himself  at  the  other  side,  and  Pic 
jealously  crept  up  to  the  feet  of  his  little  mistress  ;  but 
the  child  clung  close  to  the  strong  heart  so  full  of  love 
for  her,  and  was  comforted. 

"  Come,  then.  Pic,  you  shall  tell  the  story,"  said 
Captain  Karl,  somewhat  impatiently.  "  TThere  under 
heaven  have  you  both  been,  and  how  came  you  here 
just  now  ?  " 

Picter,  nothing  loath  to  narrate  a  tale  where  himself 
played  so  conspicuous  a  part,  commenced  his  narration 
in  a  pompous  style,  considerably  modified,  as  he  went  on, 
by  Captain  Karl's  frank  comments  upon  his  want  of 
judgment  in  falling  into  the  trap,  and  in  lingering  upon 
his  escape  until  he  came  near  being  recaptured. 

Dora,  who  gradually  recovered  her  self-possession, 
defended  her  sable  ally  with  spirit,  and  Pic  himself  was 
voluble  in  explanation  and  argument ;  so  that  the  story 
was  not  yet  finished  when  Sergeant  Brazer  returned, 
bringing  the  unfortunate  Bonaparte  as  prisoner,  and 
reporting  that  he  could  find  no  trace  of  the  rebel  scouts. 
Lieutenant  Fosdick  also  reported  the  wounded  soldiers 
safely  lodged  in  the  hospital. 

"  Then  I  must  go  and  take  care  of  them,"  said  Dora, 
springing  to  her  feet. 

"  Will  you  have  my  horse,  Dora  Darling?     I  shall  be 


DORA   DARLING: 


most  happy  to  relinquish  him,  and  will  put  you  on  into 


tlie  bargain." 

"  No,  I  thank  you,  Captain  Karl,"  said  Dora,  blushing 
brightly  as  her  eyes  met  Mr.  Brown's.  '*  I  had  enough 
of  riding  the  other  day,  when  we  went  foraging,"  added 
she,  laughing. 

"  And  I  should  have  had  altogether  too  much  of  it  if 
you  hadn't  been  along,  Do.  '  I  reckon,'  as  we  say  here 
in  Virginia,  you  saved  my  life  that  time." 

"  By  '  being  along '  ?  They  don't  say  that  in  Virginia, 
any  way,"  retorted  Dora,  mischievously. 

"  Nettle !  When  you  live  in  New  York  vnXh  me, 
you'll  add  '  being  along'  to  '  reckon.'  " 

"  But  I'm  not  going  to  live  in  New  York  with  you. 
I'm  going  to  Massachusetts  when  we're  mustered  out," 
said  Dora. 

"  '  TThen  ive^vQ  mustered  out!'  For  goodness' sake, 
chaplain,  hear  that  midget  talk ! "  exclaimed  Captain 
Karl. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  going  to  Ohio  to  live  with  me, 
Dora,  when  that  time  comes?"  asked  the  chaplain, 
pleasantly. 

Dora  glanced  shyly  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  I'd  like  best  to  live  with  the  aunt  I'm  going  to  look 
for,  and  have  you  both  come  and  see  me  very  oftfen," 
said  she. 

"  You  little  coquette !     You  want  to  secure  us  both. 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF   THE  REGIMENT.  297 

do  you,  and  keep  your  own  liberty?  There's  tlie  femi- 
nine element  cropping  out  with  a  vengeance  !  '*  exclaimed 
the  gay  young  captain.  But  Mr.  Brown  looked  a  little 
disturbed  at  the  turn  given  to  the  conversation,  and  Dora, 
blushing  angrily,  made  no  reply. 

"  We're  apt  to  forget  what  a  little  girl  you  are,  after 
all,  Dora,"  said  the  chaplain,  pleasantly,  as  they  reached 
the  entrance  to  the  hospital,  "you  are  so  womanly  in 
many  things." 

"  And  so  manly  in  many  more,"  added  Captain  Wind- 
sor, with  a  mocking  salute,  as  he  passed  on. 

Dora's  eyes  filled  again  with  tears  as  she  hastily  sought 
her  own  little  tent ;  but  when,  a  few  moments  later,  she 
reappeared,  and  Avent  about  her  customary  duties,  her 
face  had  resumed  its  usual  sunny  calm,  and  her  manner 
its  wonted  steadfastness. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

"  Good  news,  Dora  Darling !  The  best  of  news ! 
Come  out  here,  and  you  shall  know  it,"  cried  Captain 
Windsor  at  the  door  of  the  vivandiere's  tent,  one  cold 
morning,  some  weeks  after  the  adventure  narrated  in  the 
last  chapter. 

"What  is  it  that  makes  you  so  glad?"  asked  Dora, 
smilingly,  as  she  made  her  appearance  fully  dressed. 

"  It's  a  secret,  you  know ;  though,  like  most  army  se- 
crets, every  one  in  this  camp,  and  probably  as  many  in 
the  rebel  camp,  know  all  about  it ;  but,  just  for  form's 
sake,  I'll  whisper  it  in  your  ear,  and  you  mustn't  tell  it 
to  any  one  else." 

"  I  won't  tell,"  promised  Dora,  seriously. 

"  Don't ;  unless,  indeed,  you  find  some  one  who  hasn't 
heard  it.  But,  hark  !  we're  going  to  have  a  crack  at  the 
graybacks,  and  a  lot  of  us  have  got  the  colonel  to  prom- 
ise to  take  you." 

"  Into  action  ?     O,  good  !  " 

"  He  didn't  want  to  ;  but  we  asked  him.  What's  the 
use  of  having  a  vivandiere,  if  she's  not  to  go  to  the  scene 
of  action?  And  we've  all  vowed  to  take  the  best  of  care, 
(298) 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE  REGIMENT.  299 

and  the  chaplain  is  to  have  special  charge  of  you,  and 
you're  to  ride  in  an  ambulance,  and  the  old  man  says 
you're  not  to  come  within  range  till  the  shindy's  over." 

"  O,  but  I  must !  I'm  going  to  help  the  wounded  men 
all  the  time,  you  know." 

"  I  know ;  yes,  and  I  know,  too,  you'll  catch  it  if  you 
don't  obey  orders,  miss.  It's  as  much  as  ever  you've  got 
leave  to  go  at  all ;  and  I  swore  till  I  was  black  in  the 
face  that  you  should  be  kept  out  of  harm's  way.  Are 
you  going  to  make  me  perjure  myself?  " 

"You  shouldn't  promise  for  other  people,  and  it's  very 
wrong  to  swear  about  anything,"  said  Dora,  solemnly. 

"  But,  my  dear  little  parsoness,  this  kind  of  oath  is 
only  wrong  when  it  is  broken  ;  so,  if  you  get  yourself 
into  mischief,  you  will  not  only  suffer  in  your  own  proper 
person,  but  will  bring  deathless  torment  upon  me  for 
false  swearing  —  don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  And  I  am  to  put  on  my  flask,  and  water-keg,  and  all 
the  things  ?  " 

"  Do  you  call  that  an  answer  to  my  elaborate  argu- 
ment, you  provoking  creature  ?  Yes,  you're  to  be  rigged 
out  in  all  your  traps,  not  forgetting  the  whistle.  That's 
the  order,  by  the  way,  and  I  was  intrusted  with  it  offi- 
cially, though  you  may  think*  my  style  of  delivery  some- 
what unofficial." 

"  And  when  is  it  to  be  ?  " 

"  One  would  think,  to  look  at  you,  we  were  talking  of 


300  DORA   DARLING: 

a  dance,  or  a  picnic.  Are  all  girls  such  bloodthirsty 
little  creatures  ?  " 

"  O,  Captain  Karl,  that's  not  kind !  I'm  not  blood- 
thirsty a  bit." 

"Now,  Do,  are  you  quite  certain  about  that?  Don't 
you  really  enjoy  dropping  a  rebel,  and  seeing  him  kick  ?  " 

"  Captain  Karl !  " 

"  Well,  it  was  you,  any  way,  that  put  Picter  up  to 
rigging  that  poor  nigger  to  the  pine  tree,  that  day,  and 
leaving  him  there  to  scare  himself  to  death." 

"  Indeed  it  wasn't !  I  begged  and  prayed  him  to  let 
him  go,"  said  Dora,  indignantly. 

"Tell  that  to  the  marines!  He's  escaped — did  you 
know  it  ?  " 

"Wlio,  Bonaparte?" 

"  The  bony  party,  as  Pic  calls  him.  Yes,  he's  es- 
caped ;  but  whether  North  or  South,  is  more  than  I  can 
tell.  Pic  vows  he'll  shoot  him  the  minute  he  claps  eyes 
on  him,  if  he  should  ever  be  so  blessed  again." 

"  I  hope  he  won't  be,  then." 

"  O,  you  want  to  keep  him  for  yourself — do  you? 
Well,  perhaps  we  shall  fall  in  with  him  to-day." 

"Is  it  to-day?  Why  didn't  you  say  so  sooner?"  ex- 
claimed Dora. 

"  Time  enough,  young  woman.  Don't  be  in  too  great 
a  hurry.  We  don't  move  till  somewhere  near  noon,  and 
it's  only  eight  o'clock    now.     You're   to  report  to  the 


THE   DAUGHTER    OF  THE  REGIMENT.  301 

chaplain  as  soon  as  you're  ready,  however.  I  suppose 
he's  going  to  use  the  spare  time  in  giving  you  good 
advice,  and  reading  you  a  tract  or  two." 

"  Don't  laugh  at  Mr.  Brown,  Captain  Karl.  I  don'^ 
like  it,"  said  Dora,  seriously. 

"  Laugh  at  him  !  I'd  as  soon  laugh  at  a  black-manea 
lion.  I'm  awfully  afraid  of  him  —  didn't  you  know  it  ? 
Almost  as  much  afraid  as  I  am  of  you." 

"  I  believe  there's  nothing  you  are  afraid  of,  good  nor 
bad,"  said  Dora,  petulantly. 

*'  Yes,  there  is.  I'm  afraid  of  teasing  Dora  Darling 
till  I  come  to  the  end  of  her  patience  ;  so  I'm  going  to 
stop  short  and  take  myself  off.     Au  revoir." 

"  Does  that  mean  good  by?" 

"It  means  good  by  till  I  see  you  again." 

"  O  !  Then  I'll  say  in  English,  Good  by  till  I  see  you 
again." 

Captain  Karl,  with  a  laugh,  and  a  feint  of  boxing  the 
ears  of  his  saucy  playmate,  left  the  tent,  and  strode 
merrily  away,  singing,  — 

"  O,  saw  ye  the  lass  with  the  bonny  blue  een? " 

while  Dora  hastened  to  pay  a  short  visit  to  each  of  her 
few  patients  before  making  herself  ready  for  the  ex- 
cursion. 

A  few  hours   later,  a  column  of  two  thousand   men 
wound   slowly   down  the   mountain  side,   Avith  pennons 
26 


302  DORA   DARLIS'G: 

waving,  banners  drooping,  horses  prancing,  accoutre- 
ments flashing  in  the  wintry  sunshine,  while  the  musi- 
cians pealed  forth  a  triumphal  march,  until  the  welkin 
rang  responsive  to  the  strains  of  hope  and  exultation. 

In  the  rear  of  this  brave  array  came  a  train  of  ambu- 
lances —  sad  memorials  of  the  price  that  must  be  paid 
before  these  brave  hearts  should  return  as  conquerors. 
In  one  of  these  ambulances  rode  Dora  Darling,  doomed, 
sorely  against  her  will,  to  this  ignominious  conveyance, 
instead  of  her  own  sturdy  little  feet.  But  the  colonel 
was  inexorable.  "If  the  vivandiere  is  to  go  at  all,  she 
must  go  in  an  ambulance,"  said  he  ;  and  no  one  dared 
dispute  his  law.  So  Dora  was  fain  to  sit  in  silence,  or 
to  chat  with  the  chance  visitors  who,  once  in  a  while, 
rode  up  beside  her  carriage,  or  begged  a  seat  within,  if 
they  chanced  to  be  of  the  infantry. 

Mr.  Brown  came  more  than  once,  and  so  did  Captain 
Karl,  although  the  visits  of  the  latter  officer  had  rather 
the  air  of  a  stolen  pleasure,  and  Dora  noticed  that  he 
often  looked  anxiously  forward  to  the  head  of  the  column, 
where  Colonel  Blank's  stately  figure  rode  steadily  on, 
leading  the  van  of  the  long  array. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  oughtn't  to  be  here,  by  your  looks, 
Captain  Karl,"  said  Dora,  mischievously,  at  last. 

"  Do  I  look  like  a  truant?  " 

"  Very  much." 

"  Well,  it  is  true  that  the  old  man  said  I  had  better 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE  REGIMENT.  303 

keep  away  from  you  on  this  expedition,  lest  we  should 
both  turn  up  at  Monterey,  or  some  other  rebel  settlement, 
and  the  Avhole  command  would  have  to  leave  all  to  o-o 
and  rescue  us." 

"  Did  the  colonel  give  you  an  order  not  to  talk  with 
me?"  asked  Dora,  anxiously. 

"  O,  no,  —  only  a  sort  of  jocose  warning  ;  but  his  jokes 
are  always  rather  leonine  ;  one  doesn't  care  to  have  them 
carried  too  far." 

"  You  had  better  not  come  to  me,  then.  I  shouldn't 
like  to  have  to  beg  yon  off  again." 

"Beg  me  off,  you  little  mischief!  "What  does  that 
mean  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  shan't  tell  you.  It's  my  secret,  and  I'm 
not  going  to  share  it.  But  see  —  the  column  is  halted. 
Make  haste  back  to  your-place,  bad  boy." 

Captain  Windsor,  with  a  grimace  of  annoyance,  obeyed 
the  counsel  of  his  little  friend,  and  when  Colonel  Blank, 
riding  slowly  down  the  column,  came  opposite  Company 
Z,  its  youthful  commander  stood  with  military  precision 
at  his  appointed  station. 

A  short  halt  for  rest  was  now  allowed,  and  a  company 
from  the  —  Ohio  was  deployed  for  skirmishers,  although 
the  scouts  had  reported  the  rebels  entirely  withdrawn 
from  the  vicinity  of  Cheat  Mountain. 

Dora  gladly  took  the  opportunity  of  escaping  from  her 
moving  prison,  and  scrambled  gayly  up  the   steep  hill 


304  DORA   DARLING: 

under  which  her  ambiilance  had  halted,  looking  for  nuts 
and  wild  flowers.  Under  a  great  chestnut  she  found  a 
group  of  her  own  men,  among  them  Merlin,  feasting 
upon  such  spoils  as  the  squirrels  had  left  to  them. 

The  vivandiere  was  gi'eeted  with  cordial  exclamations 
of  welcome,  and  while  Merlin  spread  his  great-coat  for  a 
seat,  his  comrades  collected  all  the  chestnuts  they  could 
lay  hands  on,  and  poured  into  her  lap. 

Dora  laughingly  protested  against  thus  depriving  her 
friends  of  their  treat ;  but,  as  the  readiest  spokesman 
of  the  party  eagerly  said  for  the  rest,  it  did  them  all 
far  more  good  to  see  "  the  daughter  "  eat  chestnuts, 
than  to  feast  on  roast  turkey  themselves. 

Dora,  in  turn,  insisted  that  they  should  at  least  partake 
with  her  ;  and  the  men,  throwing  themselves  upon  the 
grass,  surrounded  her  with  an  admiring  circle,  where 
quiet  jokes  and  modest  laughter  from  the  courtiers  min- 
gled with  sage  bits  of  counsel,  or  information  from  the 
little  queen. 

Suddenly,  with  a  glitter  of  embroidery,  a  jangle  of 
scabbards,  a  nodding  of  plumes,  a  group  of  staff  officers 
appeared  upon  the  scene,  accompanied  by  Colonel  Blank, 
who,  pausing  in  his  conversation  as  his  eyes  fell  upon 
the  merry  circle,  frowned  and  bit  his  mustache. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  lisped  a  fair-haired  aide-de-camp, 
raising  his  glass  to  look  at  Dora,  "these  fellows  are 
more  fortunate  than  their  betters.  What  sunburnt  beau- 
ty have  we  here  ?  " 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  305 

"  It  is  the  vivandiere  of  my  regiment,  Lieutenant  Cy- 
prus," said  Colonel  Blank,  so  haughtily  that  the  young 
fellow,  dropping  his  eye-glass  and  his  flippant  manner  at 
once,  merely  bowed  a  reply,  and  strolled  away. 

"  I  have  heard  of  the  vivandure  of  the  Twenty  — 
Ohio,"  said,  courteously,  a  fine-looking,  gray-haired  cav- 
alry officer.     "  Will  you  introduce  her,  colonel?  " 

"  Certainly,  captain.  Men,  return  to  your  lines,  and 
be  ready  to  fall  in  directly.  Dora,  come  here.  This  is 
Dora  Darling,  Captain  Bracken." 

*'  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  my  dear,"  said  the  elder  officer, 
kindly  extending  his  hand.  "  I  have  heard  of  your 
attachment  to  the  Union  cause,  and  the  good  service 
you  have  done  our  wounded  soldiers,  and  I  am  glad  also 
to  thank  you,  in  behalf  of  all  Union  men,  for  your  devo- 
tion to^he  cause." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  for  saying  so  ;  but  it's  only  a  little 
that  I  can  do  compared  with  what  you  and  the  other 
leaders  are  doing,"  said  Dora,  with  shy  self-possession. 

"  Did  you  ever  read  about  the  mouse  and  the  lion,  my 
dear?"  asked  the  captain,  smiling. 

"  No,  sir.  Mr.  Brown  hasn't  many  books  here,  and  I 
never  had  any  others.  It  doesn't  tell  about  a  mouse  and 
lion  in  any  of  them,  I  think." 

"  Well,  you  must  ask  Mr.  Brown  to  tell  you  about  it, 
when  he  has  time.     And  what  do  you  expect  to  do  at 
Camp  Baldwin  to-day  ?  " 
26* 


306  DORA   DARLJXO: 

"  Is  that  where  we  are  going,  sir?  " 

"  Yes.  'We,  are  expecting  to  reconnoitre  there  much 
after  the  fashion  of  the  other  day  at  Camp  Bartow." 

"  There  will  be  fighting,  then?  " 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  Then  there  will  be  wounded  men,  and  I  shall  carry 
them  water  and  spirits  ;  and  if  they  are  faint  I  shall  give 
them  hartshorn,  and  let  them  smell  at  the  salts,  and  so 
keep  them  up  till  the  surgeons  come.  That  is  what  they 
have  me  for." 

"0,  that  is  what  they  have  you  for !  And  aren't 
you  proud  of  holding  so  prominent  a  position  ?  " 

"  I  have  nothing  to  be  proud  of,  sir,  for  I  have  not 
had  a  chance  to  do  anything  yet,"  said  Dora,  modestly. 

"  Well,  my  daughter,  I  think  you  ^vill  have  before  the 
day  is  out,"  said  the  captain,  good-humoredly.«  "  But 
mind  that  you  keep  out  of  the  way  of  danger." 

"  I  can't  do  that,  sir." 

"And  why  not?" 

"  Because,  then  I  couldn't  do  any  good,  sir." 

"  It  won't  do  any  good  to  yourself  to  get  shot.  You 
must  remember  that  you  have  to  take  care  of  yourself 
first  of  aU." 

Dora's  eyes  flashed. 

"  If  you  really  thought  so,  sir,  you  wouldn't  be  here 
to-day.     That  isn't  the  rule  for  a  soldier." 

"  But  you're  not  a  soldier,  my  little  girl,"  persisted  the 
captain,  laughing. 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  307 

"No,  sir ;  but  I'm  not  a  coward,  and  it  is  only  a 
coward  who  would  leave  his  duty  undone  for  fear  of 
getting  hurt." 

"And  it's  only  a  very  brave  and  true-hearted  little 
girl  who  could  fill  your  place,  Dora  Darling." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  don't  half  fill  it  myself,"  said  Dora, 
simply. 

"  Good  by  for  the  present,  my  dear,  and  remember,  at 
least,  that  we  who  fill  important  positions  have  no  right 
to  be  other  than  careful  of  our  lives.  The  Twenty  — 
could  ill  spare  their  vivandiere." 

"  Good  by,  sir,"  said  Dora,  saluting  with  military 
precision. 

"  Take  care  of  that  girl,"  Colonel  Blank,  said  the  elder 
officer,  as  they  moved  away.  "  She's  an  original,  and  a 
very  valuable  one,  too  ;  a  beauty,  with  all  the  rest." 

"  Beauty  is  her  smallest  charm  in  my  eyes,"  said  the 
colonel,  enthusiastically.  "  She  is  meant  for  something 
better  than  camp  life.  I  am  thinking  of  sending  her 
home  to  my  wife  for  a  daughter.  We  have  none  of  our 
own." 

"  Not  till  the  war  is  over.  She  has  a  '  vocation  '  for 
heroism,  evidently.  You  musn't  deprive  her  of  her  op- 
portunities." 

"  I  don't  like  to  have  her  so  much  with  the  men,"  said 
the  colonel,  discontentedly. 

"  It's  the  very  thing  many  of  them  need,"  replied  the 


808  DOEA   DARLING: 

captain,  gravely.  "  A  humaaizing  influence  may  be  the 
saving  of  many  a  wild  fellow  among  them,  and  no  influ- 
ence is  stronger  than  that  of  a  young  and  enthusiastic 
woman." 

"  Dora  is  not  a  woman." 

*'  It  is  hard  to  remember  that,  when  one  hears  her 
talk ;  and  she  is  of  woman's  stature  already." 

"  Still  she  is  but  fourteen,  and  is  yet  young  enough  to 
be  taught  all  that  she  lacks.  I  shall  certainly  adopt  her 
as  my  own  daughter,"  rejoined  the  colonel,  decidedly,  his 
previous  vague  desire  suddenly  strengthened  into  a  pur- 
pose by  his  friend's  admiration  of  its  object. 

The  order  to  fall  in  was  now  given,  and  the  column 
was  soon  in  motion.  An  hour  later  it  wound  into  the 
valley  of  the  Green  Brier,  and  Dora,  wdth  intense  inter- 
est, identified  the  scene  of  the  battle  she  had  witnessed 
some  months  before. 

"  There  is  where  the  rebels  lay  in  ambush,  and  just 
here  is  where  our  men  stood  waiting  for  General  Rey- 
nolds to  come  up,"  said  she  to  the  driver  of  the  ambu- 
lance ;  "  and  up  there  was  Loomis's  battery,  and  there  was 
Howe's  ;  and  O,  do  you  remember  how  Captain  Daum 
took  his  one  gim  away  up  there,  and  how  the  poor  little 
German  ran  away,  and  Captain  Daum  whipped  him  with 
his  sword?  —  And  now  we  come  in  sight  of  Buifalo  Hill. 
I  never  knew,  till  last  night,  that  the  rebels  had  left  their 
camp  there.     Why  did  they,  do  you  suppose?  " 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF   THE  REGIMENT.  309 

"  I  giiess  they  was  too  scart  to  stop  any  longer," 
drawled  the  driver,  with  a  triumphant  grin  upon  his 
broad  face. 

"And  up  there  is  where  Pic,  and  I,  and  poor  old  Jump 
were  hiding  in  the  woods.  Poor  Jump  !  he  took  cold 
that  night,  Pm  afraid,  for  he  died  a  few  weeks  ago," 
added  Do"ra,  mournfully. 

"  The  hosses  fares  as  well  as  the  men,  only  their 
widers  don't  get  no  pinsions.  That's  all  the  odds,"  said 
the  man,  a  little  bitterly. 

"  O,  but  the  men  are  fighting  for  their  country,  and  for 
liberty,  and  for  glory,  you  know.  They  come  to  the  war, 
and  go  through  all  sorts  of  things,  because  they  know  it's 
right,  and  they  couldn't  be  happy  to  stay  away  ;  and  the 
horses,  poor  things,  just  come  because  they  can't  help  it. 
So  they  are  to  be  pitied  a  great  deal  more  than  the  men 
—  don't  you  see  ?  "   argued  Dora,  enthusiastically. 

"  Don'  know  as  I  do.  I  didn't  come  for  none  of  those 
things,  and  I  guess  there  ain't  many  as  did." 

"Why,  what  else  did  you  come  for?"  asked  the  vi- 
vandwre^  incredulously. 

"  I  come  for  thirteen  dollars  a  month,  rations,  clothes, 
and  four  hundred  dollars  bounty,"  replied  the  driver, 
stolidly  ;  "  and  I  guess,  miss,  that's  about  all  the  glory 
the  most  of  them  fellers  trudging  along  there  expect  or 
care  for." 

"  Pm  sorry  you  think  so,  but  I  don't  believe  you're 


310  DORA    DARLING: 

right,"  said  Dora,  rather  loftily  ;  and  after  that  she  made 
no  more  conversation  with  her  escort. 

Passing  over  the  field  of  the  previous  battle,  the  Union 
forces  marched  without  opposition  to  the  foot  of  the  hill 
that  at  their  last  visit  had  bristled  with  hostile  bayonets, 
and  launched  flames  and  death  upon  them  from  a 
score  of  iron  throats.  Camp  Bartow  lay  beneath  the 
wintry  sky,  silent  and  deserted,  the  lonely  burial-ground 
of  many  a  malignant  traitor,  and  many  a  deluded  fol- 
lower of  men  more  subtle  and  more  wicked  than  himself. 

Again  the  federal  force  was  halfed,  and  this  time 
within  the  deserted  camp.  It  was  now  eight  o'clock  in 
the  evening,  and  the  wearied  troops  were  allowed  ample 
time  for  rest  and  refreshment,  although  no  fires  Avere  al- 
lowed, as  the  expedition  was  intended  to  be  kept  as  secret 
as  possible,  until  it  should  reach  its  destination,  now  gen- 
erally known  to  be  Camp  Baldwin,  the  rebel  fortified 
stronghold  upon  the  summit  of  Mount  Alleghany.  To  this 
place  the  garrison  of  Camp  Bartow  had  withdrawn  soon 
after  the  battle  of  Green  Brier,  and  had  there  been  re- 
enforced,  so  .that  the  present  garrison  was  estimated  at 
from  two  to  three  thousand  men. 

To  oppose  this  force,  General  IMilroy  led,  as  has  already 
been  stated,  about  two  thousand  Union  troops,  and  the 
plan  of  operation  was  now  declared. 

The  Ninth  Indiana  and  Second  Virginia  regiments, 
comprising  about  half  the  force,  received  orders  to  march 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  311 

along  the  river  side  upon  the  old  "  Greenbank  road," 
with  the  purpose  of  attacking  the  enemy  upon  his  left, 
while  the  Ohio  regiments,  Avith  the  Thirteenth  Indiana 
and  Bracken's  cavalry,  were  to  keep  the  Staunton  turn- 
pike until  reaching  a  position  where  they  could  take  the 
enemy  upon  his  right,  and  cooperate  with  their  comrades 
on  the  left. 

The  different  regiments  were  hardly  detailed  for  these 
two  divisions,  when  the  order  came  to  march,  and  was 
immediately  obeyed  by  the  Ohio  and  Indiana  boys,  ac- 
companied by  the  dauntless  Bracken  cavalry. 

An  hour  later  the  other  division  followed  them,  and 
Camp  Bartow  was  left  once  more  to  the  foxes,  and  the 
owls,  and  the  lonely  winter  night. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

The  cheerless  dawn  broke  at  last,  and  Dora,  shivering 
as  she  wrapped  her  cloak  about  her,  jumped  impatiently 
from  the  ambulance. 

"  What  are  we  waiting  for?"  asked  she,  at  length,  of 
the  driver,  after  wandering  about  for  a  few  minutes,  in 
the  vain  effort  to  restore  her  chilled  circulation,  and  gain 
some  clew  to  the  provoking  detention  that  was  causing 
an  impatient  murmur  all  along  the  line. 

"  Don't  know,  miss,  but  guess  it's  so  that  the  rebs  shall 
be  sure  to  find  out  we're  a  coming,  and  get  breakfast 
cooked  all  ready." 

"  Dora  !  "  said  a  low  voice  at  her  elbow. 

"  Captain  Karl  —  is  it  you  ?  " 

"Yes  ;  I've  run  back  to  see  how  you  were  getting  on 
in  this  confounded  chilly  place." 

"  I'm  a  little  cold,  but  it's  no  great  matter,"  said  Dora, 
cheerfully.     "  What  are  we  waiting  for?" 

"  To  hear  somethiug  from  those  other  feUows.  A  scout 
has  just  come  in  to  say  the  road  is  all  blocked  up  with 
timber,  and  the  last  three  miles  of  their  route  is  just  like 

(312) 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  313 

crawling  up  a  wall.  They  won't  be  in  for  the  fight,  any 
way  ;  so  I  don't  see  the  use  of  stopping  here.  We  mio-ht 
as  well  go  ahead,  and  gather  our  own  laurels,  v/ithout 
regard  to  theirs." 

"  What  a  pity !  But  they  knew  the  rOad  would  be 
steep,  I  suppose." 

"Yes,  but  they  couldn't  know  of  the  timber,  'cause 
why,  the  graybacks  have  just  cut  it.  Secret  expedition 
indeed  !  I'll  bet  my  head  to  a  China  orange  they've  been 
standing  to  their  guns  all  night  waiting  for  us,  and  are 
as  disgusted  at  this  delay  as  I  am." 

''It's  getting  lighter,  any  way.  Hark!  There's 
firing  ahead." 

"  Yes.  Our  advance  has  met  their  pickets,  I  suppose. 
Well,  there's  no  more  use  in  trying  to  keep  dark  ;  I  sup- 
pose we  may  go  in  now." 

And,  in  fact,  the  order  to  march  followed  Captain 
Karl's  last  words  so  instantly,  that  he  had  hardly  time  to 
regain  his  company  before  it  was  in  motion. 

Leaving  the  road,  the  division  now  began  ascending 
the  steep  and  wooded  mountain,  over  rocks  and  briers, 
pitfalls  and  felled  timber,  for  about  a  mile,  when  it  was 
again  halted  in  the  skirt  of  a  wood,  with  the  enemy's 
camp  in  full  view. 

The  general  commanding,  who  had  remained  with  this 
division,  now  perceived  that  he  must  commence  the  at- 
tack single-handed,  as  there  was  no  appeai-ance  of  the 
27 


314  DOE  A    DARLING: 

Other  force,  and  the  rebels  were  drawu  up  within  their 
lines  in  battle  array. 

A  company  of  the  Indiana  men  were  deployed  upon 
the  right,  and  one  of  the  Ohio  volunteers  upon  the  left. 
Among  these  was  Merlin,  who,  finding  himself  at  the 
extremity  of  the  line,  and  hidden  among  brushwood  from 
observation,  either  of  the  enemy  or  his  own  comi'ades, 
resolved  to  imitate,  in  some  degree,  the  hero  of  Bunker 
Hill,  who  was  found  "  fighting  upon  his  own  hook." 

Creeping  cautiously  forward  to  the  edge  of  the  woods, 
he  found  himself  within  a  hundred  yards  of  one  of  the 
cabins  within  the  fortification,  and  noticed,  with  some 
indignation,  a  rebel  officer  standing  in  the  doorway,  and 
haranguing  his  men  vehemently,  emphasizing  his  remarks 
by  contemptuous  gestures  towards  the  federal  force. 
Carefully  raising  his  rifle.  Merlin  took  deliberate  aim, 
and  was  just  about  to  pull  the  trigger,  when  the  slight 
noise  of  cocking  a  piece  arrested  his  attention,  and, 
glancing  aside,  he  caught  the  glitter  of  a  pair  of  eyes 
sighting  along  a  clouded  barrel,  at  about  half  the  distance 
from  him  that  he  was  from  the  officer. 

A  single  glance  was  sufficient,  and  the  Kentuckian 
dropped  prostrate  behind  the  log  he  had  used  for  a  rest, 
just  as  the  flash  and  "ping"  of  the  rifle  heralded  the 
ball  meant  for  his  brain,  but  now  whizzing  harm- 
lessly some  eighteen  inches  above  it.  A  rebel  sharp- 
shooter had  evidently  been  seized  with  the  same  idea  as 
Merlin,  and  was  merely  halting  on  his  path  to  glory  and 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  BEGIMENT.  315 

the  Union  forces  to  give  a  quietus  to  the  venturous  Ken- 
tuckian. 

Creeping  along  to  the  end  of  his  log,  Merlin  very 
slowly  and  carefully  peered  around  it.  The  experiment 
had  nearly  been  a  fatal  one,  for  another  bullet  whistled 
so  close  to  his  head  as  to  cut  his  hair. 

"  Come,  then,  we'll  have  it  out,"  muttered  he,  looking 
about  him  for  a  cover  that  would  allow  of  more  motion 
than  the  small  log  where  he  now  lay. 

Close  behind  him  rose  a  giant  chestnut,  with  wide, 
gnarled  trunk,  capable  of  concealing  three  men  of  Mer- 
lin's slender  figure.  He  immediately  decided  to  reach 
this  ;  but  it  was  necessary,  first,  to  draw  the  rebel's  fire, 
and  make  the  transit  while  he  was  reloading.  Lying  flat 
upon  his  back,  and  holding  his  hat  upon  a  short  stick 
lying  conveniently  at  hand,  he  very  gently  raised  it  until 
the  crown  was  just  above  the  edge  of  the  log,  then  sud- 
denly dodged  it  down  as  if  panic-stricken,  and  again 
cautiously  raised  it.  But  the  rebel  sharpshooter  was  not 
to  be  cheated  by  so  old  an  artifice  as  this,  and  shouted 
indignantly,  —  ^ 

"  You  needn't  try  to  come  the  gum  game  over  this  old 
'coon,  you  cussed  Yankee  !  " 

"  Reckon  I  ain't  afraid  to  meet  you  face  to  face,  if 
that's  your  game,"  shouted  Merlin  in  reply,  and  suddenly 
sprang  to  his  feet,  but  at  the  farther  extremity  of  the  log 
from  that  where  he  had  shown  the  hat.     As  he  rose  he 


316  DOHA  DARLING: 

made  a  spring  diagonally  back,  that  brought  him  abreast 
of  the  chestnut,  and  the  same  instant  he  was  sheltered 
behind  it.  The  rebel  bullet  cut  the  bark  from  the  tree  as 
he  disappeared,  and  the  marksman  shouted  angrily,  — 

"  Yes,  you  can  jump  about  like  a  squ'rr'l ;  but  you 
hain't  got  the  heart  of  one,  for  all  your  talk." 

Without  reply.  Merlin,  peering  round  the  trunk  of  his 
tree,  took  a  rapid  aim,  and  fired  at  the  spot  where  he 
supposed  his  enemy  to  be  hidden,  although  he  could  not 
be  certain,  as  the  latter  had  disappeared  to  reload. 

A  contemptuous  laugh  replied  to  him. 

"  Did  you  see  a  fox  or  sumthin'  over  there,  stranger?" 
inquired  the  voice. 

Merlin  was  too  busy  in  reloading  to  reply.  As  he 
drove  home  the  ball,  he  glanced  again  toward  the  thicket, 
sure  that  his  antagonist  would  now  be  taking  another 
aim.  His  eye  caught  the  gleam  of  the  clouded  barrel, 
and,  as  the  flash  blazed  from  its  mouth.  Merlin,  quick  as 
light,  sprang  to  the  other  side  of  the  tree,  and  fired  at 
the  spot  where  the  little  cloud  of  smoke  was  hardly  yet 
beginning  to  ascend. 

A  loud  cry,  succeeded  by  a  stifled  groan,  told  that  the 
hasty  aim  had  been  a  true  one. 

Merlin  paused  to  reload  his  rifle,  and  then  cautiously 
approached  the  thicket.  Parting  the  thick  underbrush, 
he  discovered  his  antagonist  crouching  to  the  gi'ound  and 
pressing  both  hands  upon  his  throat,  while  a  spasm  of 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMEXT.  317 

agony  distorted  his  features.  But  no  sooner  did  the  head 
of  the  Kentuekian  appear  above  the  bushes,  than  the  fel- 
low, springing  to  his  feet  with  a  pistol  in  his  hand,  dis- 
charged it  full  in  his  face,  roaring  out,  — 

"  Take  that,  and  go  to ,  you Yankee  !  " 

The  pistol  snapped,  but  did  not  explode.  Quick  as 
thought  descended  the  breech  of  Merlin's  gun,  dashing 
the  weapon  from  the  hands' of  his  enemy,  and  nearly  pros- 
tratinjr  him  to  the  earth.  With  a  howl  of  rai^e,  he  drew 
from  his  belt  a  bowie  knife,  and  rushed  forward.  Drop- 
ping his  rifle,  the  Kentuekian  snatched  a  similar  weapon 
from  its  sheath,  and  braced  himself  to  receive  the  attack. 
So  furious  was  the  onset  of  the  rebel,  that  Merlin's  slen- 
der figure  went  down  before  it,  and  both  men  rolled  upon 
the  earth,  silent  now,  except  for  an  occasional  snarl  of 
rage  from  the  rebel,  and  the  deep-drawn  breaths  of  the 
other,  whose  first  impulse  was  to  act  upon  the  defensive. 
Presently,  however,  a  sharp  thrill  shot  through  his  frame, 
as  the  knife  of  the  rebel  entered  his  side,  and,  failing  to 
reach  the  heart,  glanced  along  a  rib,  inflicting  a  painful, 
though  not  dangerous,  wound.  The  sting  of  this  wound, 
the  feeling  of  his  own  blood  gushing  over  his  hands,  the 
sight  of  the  fell  triumph  in  the  face  of  his  enemy,  roused 
at  last  the  sleeping  devil  in  Merlin's  heart.  The  blood 
rushed  to  his  head,  and  sung  through  his  brain ;  a  red 
glare  filled  his  eyes  ;  the  same  bloodthirsty  rage  seized 
upon  him  that  had  led  him  in  the  hospital  to  the  side  of 
27* 


318  DORA   DARLING: 

Judson's  bed  ;  and  all  thought  of  self-defence,  all  linger- 
ing instinct  of  mercy,  was  swept  away  before  it.  With 
a  wild  cry,  he  wrenched  his  arm  out  of  the  rebel's  grasp, 
seized  him  relentlessly  by  the  throat,  and,  even  while 
bearing  him  to  the  earth,  stabbed  him  to  the  heart,  and 
repeated  the  blow  again  and  again,  until  only  a  motion- 
less corpse  lay  beneath  him. 

Perceiving  this  at  length,  the  Kentuckian  rose  to  his 
feet,  and  wiped  his  forehead.  The  frenzy  passed  away, 
and  he  looked  gloomily  down  at  the  lifeless  form  so  lately 
full  of  vigor  and  animosity. 

"  Well,  he'd  'a  done  for  me,  if  I  hadn't  for  him  ;  but  I 
don't  like  this  business,  any  way  ;  it  makes  a  man  feel 
more  like  a  devil  than  a  human." 

Turning  the  body  upon  its  back.  Merlin  decently 
straightened  the  limbs,  and  laid  the  man's  own  cap  over 
the  rigid  face,  and  his  rifle  at  his  side. 

"  Don't  like  this  privateering.  Reckon  I'll  stop  in  the 
ranks,  and  drop  'em  at  long  range,  after  this,"  muttered 
he,  picking  up  his  own  gun,  and  creeping  out  of  the 
thicket  as  stealthily  as  a  murderer  might.  And  through 
that  day,  and  upon  many  another  stricken  field,  Harry 
Merlin  fought  manfully  and  well :  he  ever  avoided  indi- 
vidual contests  ;  ever  remembered,  to  his  dying  day,  the 
look  upon  that  dead  man's  face  as  he  lay  stiffening  in  the 
lonely  thicket,  his  heart's  blood  reddening  the  grass  be- 
neath him. 


.    CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

Meanwhile  the  battle  raged  with  alternating  success. 
Four  times  the  rebels  charged  with  ferocious  determina- 
tion upon  the  little  band  of  Union  men,  and  as  often  were 
repulsed  with  frightful  slaughter.  But  still  no  sound 
denoted  that  an  attack  had  commenced  upon  the  other 
side  of  the  camp,  and  the  enemy  had  evidently  been 
heavily  reenforced  since  the  federal  spies  had  reported 
his  numbers.  The  odds  were  terrific  in  favor  of  the 
rebels,  and  only  a  spirit  of  chivalrous  bravery,  and  a 
determination  not  to  desert  the  comrades  who  might  at 
any  moment  come  into  action,  justified  the  continuance 
of  the  combat. 

A  hurried  consultation  among  the  leaders  of  the  di- 
vision was  held.  Colonel  Blank,  heated,  blood-stained, 
and  grimly  despairing,  announced  the  necessity  of  falling 
back. 

*'  There  is  no  sign  that  Moody  and  Owens  are  even 
within  hearing.  I  have  sent  out  scouts,  who  can  bring 
no  tidings  of  them.  These  fellows  outnumber  us  four  to 
one,  and  have  their  line  of  cabins  as  cover,  while  we  are 
fully  exposed.     Our  ammunition  is  nearly  expended,  and 

(319) 


320  DORA   DARLING: 

I  see  no  possibility  of  continuing  the  struggle,  although  I 
am  not  used  to  be  the  first  to  cry,  '  Enough/  Even  now 
I  will  head  a  charge  upon  those  lines,  and  do  the  best 
I  may  before  I  am  cut  down,  if  you  and  the  men  will 
foUow." 

"  What's  to  be  gained  by  it?  We  can't  expect  to  take 
the  place  by  storm  with  this  handful  of  men,"  responded 
the  leader  of  the  Indiana  corps. 

"  Of  course  not.  The  only  gain  would  be  a  very  suf- 
ficient escort  of  rebels  to  the  other  world.  I  should  be 
sorry  if  our  fellows  did  not  average  three  apiece." 

"  We  all  know  your  courage,  colonel,"  interposed  the 
gallant  cavalry  captain  ;  *'  but  foolhardiness  is  not  cour- 
age ;  and  if  no  more's  to  be  done  here,  we  must  make  up 
our  minds  to  withdraw.  We  have  had  three  hours  of  it 
already,  and  the  other  division  is  evidently  to  be  of  no 
use  to-day." 

"  Here  they  come  !  We  won't  run  before  them  !  Re- 
ceive this  charge,  and  when  they  draw  off,  I  will  order 
the  retreat !  "  exclaimed  the  colonel,  hurriedly  ;  and  each 
oflScer  hastened  to  sustain  his  own  command. 

On  came  the  rebels  with  shouts  and  curses.  Steady 
as  a  rocky  shore  stood  the  Union  men  to  receive  them. 
The  distance  lessened,  and  yet  each  withheld  his  fire  — 
the  federals  to  save  their  scanty  ammunition,  the  rebels 
from  bravado.  A  hundred  feet  alone  separated  the 
lines :  eyes  met  the  glare  of  hostile  eyeballs,  curses  and 


THE   DAUGHTER    OF    THE    REGIMENT.  321 

taunts  became  articulate,  and  the  blood  of  the  silent 
Northerners  boiled  within  their  veins. 

"  Fire  !  " 

"  Fire !  " 

And  along  either  line  moved  a  writhing  serpent  of 
flame,  as  a  thousand  rifles  gave  up  their  contents  in  a 
breath.  Men  fell,  on  either  side,  as  fall  the  autumn 
leaves  when  the  north  wind  smites  them  in  its  wrath  ;- 
but  none  quailed.  The  Union  men  in  their  turn  charged, 
with  bayonets  flxed,  and  vengeance  in  their  eyes.  Re- 
sistlessly  they  bore  doAvn  upon  the  rebel  line,  that  fal- 
tered, broke,  retreated ;  and  many  a  traitor  fell  stabbed 
in  the  back  as  he  fled  towards  the  shelter  of  his  camp. 

"  Forward,  my  boys  !  Follow  them  up  !  Remember 
Manassas !  Remember  Guyandotte !  Give  it  them 
Avhile  we  have  the  chance." 

So  shouted,  at  the  head  of  his  men,  Captain  Karl, 
himself  far  in  advance,  his  fair  hair  blowing  backward 
in  the  keen  wind,  his  blue  eyes  flashing,  his  face  pallid 
with  excitement,  his  clinched  sword  gleaming  above  his 
uncovered  head. 

A.  hoarse  shout  of  mingled  enthusiasm  and  revenge 
answered  his  appeal,  as  the  men  dashed  forward  in  his 
footsteps. 

Many  of  them  had  shared  the  disgraceful  rout  of 
Manassas ;  several  had  lost  their  nearest  friends  in  the 
massacre  of  Guyandotte ;  the  rest  had  heard  and  read 


322  DORA  DARLING'. 

of  the  rebel  atrocities  on  both  fields ;  the  cool  northern 
blood  was  stirred  to  frenzy,  and  it  was  not  a  company  of 
men,  but  of  heroes,  who  followed  the  springing  lead  of 
that  fair  young  Viking. 

The  guns  were  empty,  but  the  keen  sabre  bayonets 
remained,  and  Company  Z  charged  through  the  rebel 
line  as  they  might  through  a  hedge  of  roses. 

"  Stop,  you  confounded  cowards !  Don't  you  dare 
face  us  on  your  own  ground  ?  "  roared  Captain  Karl, 
while  his  men  scattered  right  and  left,  adroitly  cutting 
off  the  retreat  of  their  flying  foes. 

""Who  said  coward?"  cried  a  deep  voice,  as  a  tall 
young  fellow  extricated  himself  from  a  knot  of  retreat- 
ing rebels,  and  turned  to  face  his  taunting  pursuer. 

"  Here's  the  man  who  said  it,"  contemptuously  re- 
torted Captain  Karl,  aiming  a  furious  blow  at  the  other's 
head. 

"  You're  a  liar,  then  !  "  shouted  the  swarthy  young 
rebel,  as  he  adroitly  parried  the  blow  with  his  gun-bar- 
rel, and  then  thrust  with  his  bayonet  at  the  captain's 
heart. 

A  sidelong  spring  evaded  the  attack,  and  the  next 
instant  Captain  Karl  dashed  the  pommel  of  his  broken 
sword  into  the  face  of  his  antagonist,  and  pinioning  him 
with  his  arms,  loudly  demanded  a  surrender. 

"  I'U  see  you first,"  panted  the  rebel,  struggling 

to  reach  hi&  knife.     But,  with  a  dexterous  movement, 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE  REGIMENT.  323 

Captain  Karl  laid  him  prostrate  at  his  feet,  and  in  the 
same  instant,  himself  snatched  the  knife  from  the  rebel's 
belt,  and  holding  it  to  his  throat,  again  offered  quarter. 

The  reply  was  a  movement  so  sudden  and  so  energetic, 
that  Captain  Karl  suddenly  found  himself  dragged  to  the 
ground,  disarmed,  and  at  the  mercy  of  his  antagonist, 
who,  with  a  grim  smile,  flashed  the  glittering  blade  above 
his  head,  and  with  his  eye  measured  its  deadly  aim. 

Too  proud  to  ask  for  quarter,  the  young  hero  looked 
sternly  up  at  tlie  unrelenting  face  bent  over  him,  and  in 
his  heart  bade  good  by  to  earth  and  life.  Blood  from  a 
deep  wound  in  the  rebel's  throat  dropped  dowTi,  and 
plashed  upon  the  face  of  the  Union  soldier, 

"Coward,  am  I?"  exclaimed  the  victor.  "There's 
one  for  that !     And  here's  one  for  this  cut  in  my  throat." 

With  the  first  words  the  knife  descended  across  the 
captain's  cheek ;  at  the  next  it  was  poised  above  his 
heart,  when  a  piercing  voice  cried,  — 

"  Tom  !     Tom  Darley  !     O,  stop  !  " 

Without  relaxing  his  grasp,  the  rebel  turned  an  aston- 
ished face  towards  the  direction  of  the  sound. 

A  tall,  slight  figure,  in  a  dress  half  womanly,  half 
soldierly,  was  flying  towards  him,  with  eager  eyes,  palHd 
lips,  and  outstretched  arms. 

"  Dora  !  "  exclaimed  he,  softly. 

"  Tom,  it's  I.  Tom,  it's  your  own  sister  !  O,  Tom, 
let  him  go  !  " 


324  DORA    DAIiLIXG: 

« 

Her  arms  were  tight  about  his  neck,  her  face  pressed 
close  to  his,  her  gasping  appeal  sobbing  in  his  ear,  — 

"  0,  Tom,  if  you  kill  him,  you'll  kill  me." 

"  Dora  !     Why,  how  came  you  here  ?  " 

"  Move  !  move  off  his  chest.  Tom,  you've  killed  him  ; 
you've  killed  my  own  dear  Captain  Karl !  " 

"  Here,  you  reb,  you're  my  prisoner.  What's  this ! 
Killed  our  captain  ?  Wish't  I'd  shot  you  in  the  first  place. 
Run  to  the  woods.  Miss  Dora,  and  send  out  a  couple  of 
men  for  his  body.     I'll  bring  on  this  —  " 

"  No,  no  !  we'U  bring  him  now.  Tom,  you'll  help,  — 
Avon't  you  ?  For  my  sake,  Tom  ;  and  you'll  promise  not 
to  escape  till  we  get  to  the  ambulance  —  won't  you  ?  He's 
my  brother,  Simpson  !  " 

"Your  brother,  miss?  More's  the  pity,"  said  the  sol- 
dier, bluntly.  "  Well,  catch  hold  there,  if  you're  going 
to,  lad,  and  keep  your  parole,  if  you  don't  want  to  find 
what's  inside  this  six-shooter  of  mine.  It's  loaded,  I 
promise  you.  I  guess,  by  the  looks  of  your  neck,  though, 
you  don't  feel  very  spry." 

Tom,  whose  warlike  mood  had  received  a  check  in 
the  sudden  appearance  of  his  sister,  and  who  was  also 
somewhat  faint  from  the  profuse  bleeding  of  the  wound 
in  his  throat,  gave  a  sullen  promise  to  make  no  attempt 
to  escape  ;  and  the  two  men,  raising  the  inanimate  body 
of  the  young  captain,  bore  it  hurriedly  to  the  shelter  of 
the  woods.     Already  the  leaders   of  the  different  com- 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF   THE  REGIMENT.  325 

mands  were  rallying  them  for  the  retreat,  and  Dora  had 
barely  time  to  make  sure  that  life  yet  lingered  in  the 
frame  of  her  wounded  hero,  when  he  was  again  raised 
between  two  men,  and  borne  doAvn  the  mountain  side  to 
the  ambulance. 

Repressing  her  own  inclination  to  follow  him,  Dora 
devoted  herself  to  searching  the  tangled  thickets  of  the 
wood  for  w^ounded  sufferers  who  were  likely  to  be  over- 
looked, giving  them  refreshment  and  comfort,  and  sum- 
moning to  their  aid  some  one  of  the  parties  detailed  to 
carry  away  the  wounded  and  dead.  Many  a  fainting 
soldier  of  the  Union,  many  a  helpless  sufferer,  owed  his 
life  that  day  to  the  exertions  of  the  bright-eyed  girl,  who 
heeded  no  danger,  shunned  no  fatigue,  nerved  herself  to 
endure  all  fearful  sights,  that  she  might  fulfil  the  noble 
duty  she  had  undertaken. 

She  was  still  bending  over  a  poor  boy  mortally 
wounded  in  the  breast,  to  whose  dying  lips  she  held  the 
water  they  so  madly  craved,  when  Mr.  Brown  stood 
beside  her,  and  laid  a  hand  upon  her  .head. 

"Dora,  why  did  you  leave  the  spot  where  I  placed 
you?  I  have  been  very  anxious,"  said  he,  with  tender 
severity. 

"  I  saw  men  Mng  wounded  nearer  the  enemy,  and  I 
w^ent  to  give  them-  help.  O,  Mr.  Brown  !  This  poor 
boy  !  " 

28 


326  DORA   DARLING: 

"  He  is  dying.  Let  me  hold  his  head.  Do  not  look 
at  him." 

Softly  laying  the  poor  convulsed  frame  upon  the  turf, 
the  chaplain  knelt  beside  it,  praying  fervently  and  silently 
for  the  brave  young  spirit,  that  each  throe  set  free,  and, 
when  all  was  over,  beckoned  to  a  party  of  ambulance 
men,  who  would  carry  it  away  for  Christian  sepulture. 
Then  taking  Dora's  hand,  he  led  her  away. 

"  You  saw  wounded  men  ;  but  I  told  you  to  remain  in 
safety  where  you  were  until  I  gave  you  permission  to  go 
to  them.  I  went  forward  to  see  if  the  enemy  persisted 
in  his  attack  at  that  point,  because,  if  so,  I  would  not 
have  you  put  yourself  in  the  way.  When  I  came  back 
you  were  gone ;  and  much  of  the  good  that  I  might 
have  done  to-day  has  gone  undone,  because  I  was  seek- 
ing for  you." 

"  That  was  wrong,  I  think,"  said  Dora,  abstractedly. 

"  What  was  wrong?  " 

*'  To  be  looking  for  me  instead  of  helping  the  wounded 
soldiers.  It  wasn't  half  so  much  matter  for  one  girl  as 
for  hundreds  of  men." 

"  Dora,  it  was  more  matter  to  me  what  had  become 
of  you,  than  the  fate  of  both  armies  together,"  said  the 
chaplain,  impetuously. 

Dora  looked  up  with  astonishment  at  the  noble  face 
bent  towards  her,  the  traces  of  strong  emotion  on  all  its 
lineaments,  tear-drops  actually  glistening  in  the  eyes. 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  327 

"  I  didn't  know  you  cared  so  much  about  me,  sir," 
said  she,  simply. 

"  I  care  more  than  you  think,"  replied  the  chaplain, 
recovering  with  an  effort  his  usual  manner. 

"  Now  tell  me  how  it  happened  that  you  disobeyed  me 
so  entirely  ;  for  I  hear  that  you  were  seen  in  the  very 
heart  of  the  battle." 

"  I  went  forward  a  little  from  the  rock  where  you  left 
me,  to  carry  drink  to  some  men  wounded  by  a  cannon- 
ball,  not  a  great  way  from  me.  Then  I  saw  others,  a 
great  many  others,  and  I  went  to  them  all,  and  then 
filled  my  cask  again  at  a  brook  I  found.  Then  I  was 
going  back,  and  I  heard  a  gi*eat  shouting  among  the  reb- 
els, and  knew  they  were  coming  on,  and  I  wanted  to  see 
the  charge  ;  so  I  ran  forward  to  the  top  of  a  little  hill, 
just  behind  our  men.  I  kept  behind  a  tree,  —  indeed,  I 
did,  sir,  —  and  was  very  careful,  till  all  at  once  I  saw 
Captain  Karl  dashing  forward  at  the  head  of  his  com- 
pany ;  and  he  looked  so  glorious,  sir !  O,  I  think  not 
one  of  those  knights  of  the  Round  Table  ever  looked 
more  knightly !  And  the  men  rushed  after  him,  and 
went  right  through  the  rebels,  scattering  them  every  way. 
Then  they  all  broke  up,  and  fought  in  little  groups  of 
two  and  three  together,  and  Captain  Karl — " 

"  Always  that  boy  !  "  muttered  the  chaplain. 

"  He  chased  after  the  rebels,"  pursued  Dora,  without 
heeding  the  exclamation ;  "  and  all  at  once  one  of  them 


328  DORA   DARLING: 

turned  round,  and  faced  him.  Mr.  Brown,  it  was  ray 
brother  Tom  I " 

"Well,  what  then?" 

"  Then  they  fought.  I  don't  know  about  that  part, 
for  I  felt  so  ;  and  I  set  out  to  run  and  stop  them  ;  but  it 
seemed  as  if  a  cannon-ball  was  tied  to  each  of  my  feet. 
I  was  so  very,  very  eager  to  get  there  in  time,  I  could 
hardly  stir.  But  I  did  get  there:  I  got  there  just  as 
Tom  had  lifted  liis  arm ;  and  Captain  Karl  lay  quite 
still ;  and  in  the  next  minute  the  knife  would  have  come 
down  —     O,  Mr.  Brown,  I  can't  tell  any  more." 

Wrenching  her  hand  out  of  the  chaplain's  grasp,  Dora 
hurried  on  before  him  ;  nor  did  he  again  see  her  face 
until  they  reached  the  ambulance  train,  where  the  vivan- 
diere  found  immediate  and  full  employment. 

Captain  Karl,  with  his  wounds  dressed,  and  sitting  up- 
right, greeted  his  little  friend  after  his  usual  merry  fashion, 

"  Dora  Darling,  is  it  you?  Next  time  I'm  attacked,  I 
shall  sing  out,  not,  '  I'll  tell  my  big  brother,'  but, '  I'll  tell 
my  little  sister.'  Did  any  one  ever  see  such  a  spooney 
fellow  as  I  am,  though  ?  The  minute  I'm  hurt,  I  faint 
just  like  a  girl.  A  girl,  though !  I  wish  to  Heaven 
most  of  the  men  I  know  had  your  pluck,  Dora  —  girl 
though  you  are ! "  .  ' 

"  You're  not  badly  hurt,  then,  after  all?"  asked  Dora, 
anxiously.     "  I  thought  you  were  killed  at  first." 

"  Thank  you.  You  took  it  coolly  enough,  then.  What 
has  become  of  that  big  ruffian  you  picked  off  of  me  ?     I 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF   THE  nEGIMEXT.  329 

was  just  going  Avhen  you  came  np,  and  couldn't  see  what 
way  you  pitched  in  :  all  I  knew  was,  that  it  was  you,  and 
that  I  was  sure  of  protection.  You've  no  idea  what  a 
relief  I  found  it,  to  be  able  to  drop  off  comfortably,  leav- 
ing my  affairs  in  such  good  hands." 

Dora  could  not  respond  to  the  laugh  that  rang  so 
merrily  from  the  captain's  pale  lips. 

"It  was  my  brother  that  you  were  fighting  with," 
said  she,  gravely. 

"Your  brother!  Why,  Dora  Darling,  I'm  ever  so 
glad  neither  of  us  killed  the  other,  it  would  have  made 
you  feel  so  sorry." 

Dora  looked  at  him  without  reply  for  a  moment,  then 
briefly  said,  — 

"  You  don't  know  much  about  it,  Captain  Karl.  Now 
I'm  going  to  see  Tom." 

But  Dora  found  her  brother  sullen,  and  disinclined  for 
conversation.  He  was  much  chagrined  at  being  taken 
prisoner,  declaring  that  he  would  rather  have  been  shot 
upon  the  field.  The  wound  in  his  throat  was  deep  and 
painful,  and  the  bruise  lent  him  by  the  pummel  of  the 
captain's  sword  had  resuhed  in  a  racking  headache.  Al- 
together, Tom  was  very  poor  company  ;  and  Dora,  after 
vainly  trying  to  render  him  more  comfortable,  was  fain 
to  offer  her  services  elsewhere. 

The  first  division,  exhausted,  dispirited,  and  without 
ammunition,  were  now  re-formed  in  column,  ready  for 
28* 


330  DORA  DARLING. 

retreat,  when  a  scattering  fire,  upon  the  crest  of  the 
mountain,  announced  that  the  comrades  whose  failure 
to  cooperate  with  them  had,  as  all  felt,  lost  the  day  to 
the  Union  forces,  were  at  last  engaged  single-handed 
with  the  enemy. 

To  help  them  was  now  impossible,  and  an  order  was 
despatched  to  their  comrades  intimating  that  retreat  was 
the  only  course  left  open  to  either  division.  This  coun- 
sel, so  repugnant  to  the  hearts  of  the  brave  leaders,  was 
not  immediately  followed ;  but,  after  a  dodging,  unsatis- 
factory engagement  of  several  hours,  it  was  seen  to  be 
the  inevitable  termination  of  the  affair  ;  and  the  second 
division  sullenly  and  reluctantly  drew  off  the  bloody 
field,  bringing  their  dead  and  wounded  with  them,  and 
leaving  traces  of  their  prowess  in  many  a  rebel  coi-pse, 
or  maimed  and  wounded  sufferer. 

At  noon  the  whole  force  was  again  in  motion,  and, 
some  hours  later,  reentered  their  ow^n  works,  neither 
jubilant  nor  despairing  ;  for,  although  the  Stars  and  Bars 
still  waved  over  Camp  Baldwin,  the  number  of  its  de- 
fenders had  been  considerably  lessened  by  that  morning's 
work,  and  the  Union  soldiers  had  for  seven  hours  sus- 
tained a  close  combat  with  an  enemy  outnumbering 
them  as  three  to  one.  Indeed,  as  Sergeant  Brazer  pith- 
ily observed,  — 

"  It  might  have  been  better,  and  it  might  have  been 
worse  ;  but  if  fighting  's  a  man's  trade,  he  can't  have  too 
much  of  it,  whichever  way  it  turns." 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

Captain  Windsor  and  Tom  Darley  were  both  placed 
in  the  hospital,  although  in  different  divisions,  and  Dora 
paid  assiduous  attention  to  both. 

The  captain's  wounds  were,  in  themselves,  slight ;  but 
his  constitution,  more  nervous  than  enduring,  had  become 
seriously  impaired  from  the  effects  of  his  former  wounds, 
and  from  the  exposure  and  fatigue  which  he  delighted  to 
share  with  the  hardiest  of  his  men.  He  was,  therefore, 
earnestly  recommended  by  the  surgeon,  and  by  Colonel 
Blank,  to  accept  a  furlough,  and  go  home  to  be  nursed 
back  to  health  and  strength. 

This  advice  the  captain  received  with  unalloyed  dis- 
gust,  and  only  consented  to  think  seriously  of  it  on  find- 
ing that  he  gained  no  strength  under  hospital  treatment, 
but,  in  fact,  declined  from  day  to  day. 

"  You  must  be  gone  from  here  before  winter  fairly  sets 
in,  or  they'll  leave  your  bones  on  this  mountain,  my 
lad,"  was  the  surgeon's  parting  counsel  at  the  end  of  a 
long  conversation  with  his  patient. 

Captain  Karl  lay  silent  for  some  time,  and  then  called 
to  Dora,  — 

(331) 


332  DORA  DARLING, 

"  Come  here,  darling,  and  tell  me  what  Fm  to  do. 
I've  got  to  be  such  a  worthless  fellow,  they  won't  keep 
me  here  any  longer,  even  with  you  to  back  me  up.  The 
doctor  says  I  must  go  home,  and  the  colonel  threatens  to 
send  me  as  a  prisoner  if  I  won't  go  on  my  own  accord. 
They  say  I'll  die  here." 

"  O,  then,  go,  do  go,  as  soon  as  you  can,  dear  Captain 
Karl." 

"  I'll  go  fast  enough.  You  needn't  be  in  such  a  hurry 
to  be  rid  of  me  ;  and  please  don't  frighten  me  out  of  my 
senses  "w^ith  that  indignant  look,  because  I've  something 
to  say.  I'm  not  fit  to  travel  alone  any  more  than  a  baby 
—  now,  am  I  ?  Suppose  the  horses  were  to  run  away,  or 
the  cars  smash  up,  or  some  one  leave  a  window  open  on 
my  back  ;  and  how  under  the  sun  could  I  tell  how  much 
sugar  I  like  in  my  tea  ?  " 

Dora  smiled  faintly. 

"  Your  servant  is  a  smart  fellow  —  isn't  he?" 

"  "Well  enough.  But  I  want  some  one  who  knows 
more  than  any  servant  —  more  than  I  do  myself.  Dora 
Darling,  if  I  can't  have  you  to  go  with  me,  I'll  stay  here 
and  die,  and  then  I'll  haunt  you  every  night." 

Dora  stared  at  him  speechlessly. 

"  Me  !  "  exclaimed  she. 

"Certainly;  why  not?  I've  always  meant  to  take 
you  home  with  me,  when  I  went,  for  a  present  to  my 
mother  and  sister.     The  only  trouble  I  foresee  is,  that, 


THE  DAUGnTER   OF  THE  EEGIMENT.  333 

if  it  is  a  possible  thing  to  do  it,  they  will  spoil  you  out 
and  out ;  or,  failing  in  that,  will  kill  you  with  kindness. 
However,  we  must  risk  it." 

"  Please  tell  me  seriously  what  you  mean,  Captain 
Karl." 

^'  Well,  then,  seriously,  Dora,  I  mean  to  ask  you  to 
go  home  to  my  dear  good  mother,  to  be  another  daughter 
to  her,  and  a  sister  to  Marnie  and  me  for  the  rest  of  your 
natural  life.  It  is  the  warmest  wish  of  my  heart,  Dora 
Darling,  and  I  think,  possibly  enough,  may  make  the 
difference  of  life  and  death  to  me  upon  my  journey." 

"  But  your  mother  don't  know  —  " 

"Don't  she,  though?  Haven't  I  told  her  all  about 
you,  and  about  your  going  foraging  with  me  the  other 
day,  and  about  your  ways  with  the  men,  and  all?  and 
didn't  she  say  in  her  very  last  letter  that  I  was  to  do  as 
seemed  best  to  myself  about  bringing  you  home,  and  that 
if  I  adopted  you  as  my  sister,  you  should  be  a  daughter 
to  her?     Now,  then.  Miss  Sceptic  !  " 

"Did  she  really  and  truly  say  that?"  asked  Dora, 
flushing  all  over,  as  a  sudden  vision  of  a  home,  a  mother, 
a  sister,  and  her  dear  Captain  Karl  for  a  brother,  rose 
before  her  mental  vision. 

"  Really  and  truly,  dear  little  Do,"  said  the  young 
soldier,  tenderly.  "  And  now  promise  to  be  ready  to  go 
with  me,  and  then  I'll  be  off  to  sleep  —  I'm  so  tu-ed 
talking." 


334  DORA  DARLING: 

"  I  oughtn't  to  have  let  you,"  said  Dora,  with  much 
concern.  "  Don't  say  one  word  more,  but  shut  your 
eyes,  and  I  will  smooth  your  hair  till  you  sleep.  We 
will  talk  about  the  rest  after  you  wake  up.  I  must  think 
about  it,  and  talk  with  Mr.  Brown  before  I  can  make  up 
my  mind.  Only  I  will  tell  you  now  how  very,  very 
kind  I  think  it  of  you  and  y6ur  dear  mother  to  want  to 
have  me  come  ;  and  I  shall  never  forget  it  as  long  as  I 
live.     There,  I  shan't  speak  again,  nor  you  mustn't." 

"  Sing,  then,"  murmured  the  young  man  ;  and  the  sweet 
girl  voice  softly  crooned  a  lullaby  until  the  fevered  lips 
of  the  invalid  parted  in  the  smile  of  a  happy  dream,  and 
his  little  nurse,  screening  his  eyes  from  the  light,  crept 
softly  away,  to  think  of  what  he  had  said. 

In  the  outer  tent  she  met  the  chaplain. 

"  Mr.  Brown,  I  should  like  so  much  to  talk  with  you  a 
little." 

"  Come,  then.  I  was  just  looking  for  you,  to  propose 
a  walk.     It  is  cold,  but  it  will  do  you  good." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  Wait  a  moment,  please,  till  I  get 
my  cloak  and  cap." 

A  few  moments  later  found  teacher  and  pupil  briskly 
walking  along  the  outer  line  of  fortification,  in  their 
progress  around  the  camp. 

"  Captain  Karl  is  going  home,"  began  Dora,  abruptly, 
as  she  found  her  companion  waiting  for  her  to  begin  the 
conversation. 


•v 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  335 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  ]Mr.  Brown,  heartily. 

Dora  paused  a  little. 

"  TThy,  sir?  "  asked  she,  at  length. 

"  Because  it  is  the  best  thing  he  can  do  for  himself, 
and  I  shall  feel  easier  as  to  your  safety.  He  is  always 
leading  you  into  danger." 

"  I  don't  think  you  like  Captain  Karl  as  well  as  he 
deserves,  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Dora,  impetuously. 

"Don't  you,  indeed?  And  are  you  so  much  better 
judge  than  I  of  what  he  deserves  ?  "  asked  the  chaplain, 
coldly. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  think  I  am." 

"  Dora,  you  are  in  danger  of  becoming  self-conceited, 
and  a  little  too  free  in  criticising  the  conduct  and  judg- 
ment of  those  older  than  yourself,"  said  Mr.  Brown, 
severely. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  think  so,  sir  ;  but  you  asked  me  if  I 
knew  better  about  Captain  Karl  than  you,  and  I  thought 
I  did.     Shouldn't  I  answer  truly  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes.     But  you  shouldn't  think  so." 

"  I  heard  you  say  once,  sir,  that  free  thought  was  more 
precious  than  free  speech,"  said  Dora,  demurely. 

The  chaplain  bit  his  lip, 

"  Well,  tell  me  how  it  is  you  have  formed  so  much 
juster  an  estimate  of  Captain  Windsor's  character  than 
I  have  been  able  to." 

"  I  think,  sir,  it  is  because  I  like  him.     And  besides  I 


336  DORA    DARLING: 

think  he  feels  as  if  you  expected  people  to  —  to  look  up 
to  you,  and  speak  differently  from  what  young  men  gen- 
erally do  to  each  other,  and  so  he  feels  more  like  talking 
in  his  wild  way  than  ever.  Then  I  think  you  don't  like 
it  that  he  isn't  more  careful,  and  treats  you  just  as  he 
does  Captain  Hunt,  or  any  of  the  rest  of  them ;  and  so 
you  both  keep  feeling  wrong  when  you  are  together,  and 
so  don't  like  each  other." 

"  You're  making  me  out  rather  a  prig,  Dora,"  said  the 
chaplain,  smiling,  and  coloring  a  little. 

"  I  don't  know  what  that  is,  sir.  But  I  wish  you  liked 
Captain  Karl  better,  because  I  like  you  both  so  much, 
and  want  to  have  you  friends." 

"Well,  we  won't  say  any  more  about  it  now.  What 
were  you  going  to  tell  me  ?  " 

"Why,  it  was  about  him,  sir.  He  is  going  home,  and 
he  wants  me  to  go  with  him,  and  be  his  sister.  His 
mother  has  written  to  give  him  leave  to  bring  me,  and  he 
says  perhaps  he  won't  live  unless  he  has  me  to  take  care 
of  him." 

"Go  home  with  him,  to  remain  always?"  exclaimed 
the  chaplain,  stopping  short,  and  looking  at  Dora  in  a 
terrified  sort  of  way. 

"Yes,  sir.  His  mother  to  be  my  mother,  and  his  sis- 
ter my  sister." 

"And  he—?" 

"  Why,  he  would  be  my  brother." 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  337 

"  And  you,  Dora,  what  is  your  own  inclination  in  the 
matter  ?  " 

"I  should  like  so  much  to  go,  sir — to  have  a  home 
and  family  again  ;  and  I  know  I  should  love  them  all ! 
But  how  can  I  leave  the  soldiers  ?  I  am  the  daughter 
of  the  regiment,  and  if  I  can  do  it  any  good,  I  have  no 
more  right  to  leave  it  than  the  colonel  has.  Isn't  it  so, 
Mr.  Brown?" 

"  Yes,  dear  child,  it  is  so.  And  you  can  do  —  you  are 
doing — inconceivable  good  among  these  men.  My  in- 
fluence, indeed,  is  secondary  to  your  own.  It  would  be 
a  cruel  loss,  a  wicked  deprivation  to  them,  for  you  to  go 
away." 

He  paused,  too  much  agitated  to  say  more.  Dora 
walked  by  his  side  a  few  moments  in  silence,  and  then 
said,  quietly,  — 

"  If  it  is  so,  I  will  stay." 

"And  not  the  men  alone,  Dora.  I — what  should  I  do 
without  my  dear  little  friend,  my  scholar,  my  right  hand 
in  all  good  works  that  I  have  done  here  ?  You  will  not 
leave  me,  Dora?  " 

"  O,  Mr.  Brown,  am  I  all  that?  " 

"  All  that,  and  more,  Dora  Darling ;  far  more  than  I 
can  tell  you  now.  I  never  thought  of  your  leaving  us,  or 
I  would  have  spoken  sooner  ;  but  I,  too,  have  my  plan  for 
you  —  a  plan  that  has  been  maturing  in  my  mind  for 
many  weeks.  1  have  no  mother  to  take  you  to,  no  sister 
29 


338  DORA  DABLING: 

to  offer  you  as  a  companion  ;  but  I  myself,  Dora,  will  be 
to  you  brother,  father,  guardian,  all  that  a  man  may  be 
to  the  most  precious  charge  God  could  give  him,  if  only 
you  will  let  me.  My  home,  as  I  have  told  you,  is  in  a 
little  village  of  Ohio.  My  parishioners  allowed  me  to 
leave  them  for  this  service  at  my  earnest  request,  but 
they  expect  me  back  to  live  among  them  for  life.  There 
is  an  excellent  w^oman,  a  woman  who  has  been  to  me 
like  a  mother,  among  them.  In  her  charge  I  will  place 
you  for  a  while,  and  I  myself  will  watch  over  and  edu- 
cate you.  I  will  develop  the  strong,  pure  nature  that 
God  has  given  you.  I  will  train  you  to  such  womanhood 
as  the  world  has  seldom  witnessed.  Dora,  I  startle  you 
with  my  vehemence,  but  you  cannot  yet  understand  how 
this  plan  has  become  a  part  of  my  whole  future.  I  have 
been  thinking  of  it  day  and  night  for  weeks,  and  only 
waited  for  a  quiet  hour  to  tell  you  of  it.  Dora,  you  will 
not  disappoint  me  so  bitterly  ?  " 

The  chaplain  uttered  the  last  words  imploringly,  and 
seizing  Dora's  hands,  stood  looking  eagerly  into  her  face. 
But  Dora  did  not  raise  her  eyes  to  his.  Her  lips  were 
compressed,  and  her  face  was  very  pale.  It  was  a  crisis 
in  her  life,  and  she  felt  it  painfully.  At  last  she  di'ew 
away  her  hands,  and  said  sorrowfully,. — 

"  You  are  both  so  very  good  to  me  !  and  how  can  I 
bear  to  say  no  to  either  ?  " 

*'  Surely,  Dora,  you  cannot  esteem  this  thoughtless  lad 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF    THE  REGIMEXT.  339 

as  safe  or  true  a  guardian  for  you,  as  I?"  asked  the 
chaplain,  bitterly. 

"  No,  sir.  You  would  do  me  a  great  deal  more  good 
than  he  could.  But  I  think  I  could  do  him  more  ^iood 
than  I  could  you." 

"  That,  Dora,  is  not  for  you  to  know.  Some  day  you 
will  understand  better  what  I  cannot  now  explain." 

"  Please,  sir,  let  us  not  talk  any  more  about  it  now. 
I  will  think  of  it  to-night,  and  to-morrow  I  can  tell  bet- 
ter, perhaps." 

"  Very  well,  dear  child.  Pray  for  guidance,  and  it  will 
be  given  you." 

"  I  shall,  sir,"  said  Dora,  softly. 

"  Good  night,  then." 

"  Good  night,  sir.  O,  Mr.  Brown,  you  know  Picter 
must  go  with  me  wherever  I  go.  I  have  the  care  of 
him." 

The  chaplain  smiled. 

'•Yes,  indeed,"  said  he.     "  That  is  understood." 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

When  Dora  returned  to  the  hospital,  she  found  her 
brother  impatiently  awaiting  her. 

"  Come  into  your  own  tent,  Dora,"  said  he,  in  a  low 
voice.     "  I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

"  Go  in  and  wait  for  me,  Tom.  I  must  just  look 
round  the  hospital  first.  I  am  glad  you  are  so  much 
better  to-day ;  but  you  must  go  to  bed  as  soon  as  you 
have  done  talking  to  me." 

"  Make  haste.  Do.     That's  a  good  girl." 

In  about  half  an  hour,  the  vivandiere,  having  finished 
her  rounds,  entered  her  own  quarters,  where  she  found 
her  brother  impatiently  awaiting  her. 

"  What  a  time  you  have  been  !  "  exclaimed  he.  "  But 
now  sit  down  here  and  listen,  for  you've  got  to  help  me, 
somehow  or  other." 

"Well,  Tom,  tell  me  how." 

"Why,  I've  just  heard  that  a  lot  of  us  are  to  be  sent 
off  to-morrow  to  Columbus  to  be  put  in  jail,  or  sent  to 
some  of  those  northern  forts,  and  die  of  fever  and 
starving,  like  so  many  niggers  in.  a  slave-pen,"  exclaimed 
Tom,  vehemently,  although  in  a  low  voice. 

(340) 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF   THE  REGIMENT.  341 

"  O,  Tom  !    And  you  are  one  of  them?  " 

"  Yes.  I'm  well  enough  to  be  discharged  from  the 
hospital,  and  prison 's  the  next  thing  for  me.  But,  Dora, 
I'll  die  first.  Sooner  than  go  to  rot  in  one  of  those 
northern  jails,  I'll  shoot  myself." 

"  Don't,  Tom,  don't  talk  so." 

"  I  feel  so,  any  way  ;  but  if  I  can  escape,  I  shan't  need 
to  do  either." 

Dora  said  nothing,  but  looked  very  serious. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Tom,  glancing  keenly  at  her,  "  I 
know  it's  bad  for  you  in  one  way  to  help  me  off;  but 
in  another  way  it's  your  duty.  You  was  my  sister  long 
enough  before  either  of  us  even  heard  of  rebels  or  Union 
men.  You  wouldn't  sacrifice  your  own  flesh  and  blood 
to  a  notion  —  would  you,  Dora?" 

"  O,  Tom,  don't  call  it  a  notion.  Yes,  I  would  will- 
ingly give  my  own  life  to  do  good  to  the  Union  side  ; 
but  to  give  yours  —  " 

"  Yes,  that's  just  it,"  broke  in  Tom,  eagerly.  "  If 
you  don't  help  me  off,  it's  just  the  same  as  if  you  gave 
up  my  life  ;  for  I  swear  I'll  kill  myself  sooner  than  go 
to  jail." 

"  Tom,  you  are  very  wicked  to  say  so." 

"  You'll  find  I'll  be  wicked  enough  to  do  it,  as  well  as 
say  it,"  retorted  her  brother,  doggedly. 

"  But,  Tom,  I  am  trusted  with  everything.  They  all 
know  that  I  am  as  loyal  as  a  true-born  Northerner,  and  I 
29* 


342  DORA    DARLIXO  • 

am  never  watched  nor  questioued.  How  cau  I  be  so 
mean  as  to  betray  such  trust?" 

"  That's  the  very  thing  that  makes  it  easy  for  you. 
You  could  help  me  off,  and  never  be  suspected.  Now,  I 
dare  say  you  know  the  pass-word  for  to-night  —  don't 
you?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  would  no  more  make  a  bad  use  of  it 
than  I  would  kill  myself." 

"Or  me?" 

"  Tom,  don't  try  me  so  !  " 

"  Remember,  Dora,  that  mother  told  you  never  to  for- 
get that  you  and  I  were  all  she  had,  and  to  hold  together 
through  life,  whatever  haiDpened." 

"  But,  Tom,  mother  was  no  rebel,  nor  she  didn't  want 
you  to  be." 

"  And  if  she  was  here  to-night,  would  she  tell  you  to 
kill  me  because  I  have  been  one?"  asked  Tom,  bitterly. 

"  If  she  were  here  !  O,  mother,  if  only  you  were 
here ! "  moaned  Dora,  sinking  on  her  knees  beside  the 
bed,  and  hiding  her  face. 

"  But  she  isn't ;  and  I  have  neither  mother  nor  sister  to 
save  me  from  destruction.     "Well,  it  will  be  over  soon." 

And  Tom  was  moodily  leaving  the  tent,  when  Dora 
called  him  back. 

"  Wait,  Tom,  wait.  I  can't  tell  yet ;  but  you  mustn't 
leave  me  so.  Tell  me,  if  you  go,  vriW  you  join  the  rebel 
army  again  ?  " 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  liEGIMEXT.  343 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  the  lad,  sullenly. 

"  Then  I  have  no  right,  if  you  were  twice  my  brother, 
to  set  you  free.  But,  Tom,  if  you  will  promise  me  sa- 
credly, if  you  will  call  mother  to  listen  to  your  promise, 
never  to  fight  against  the  Union,  but  to  go  North,  and  find 
some  quiet  work,  and  wait  there  till  I  come,  or  if  you 
will  enter  our  army  —  " 

"  That  I  won't  do  !  "  hastily  interposed  Tom.  "  I'm 
no  turncoat,  and  ain't  going  to  sell  one  kind  of  liberty  to 
get  another." 

"  Well,  will  you  do  the  first,  if  I  will  help  you  off  ?  " 

"  Will  you  help  me  off,  if  I  will?" 

"  Yes,  Tom,  I  will,"  said  Dora,  in  a  very  low  voice. 

"  All  right.  I'll  agree  ;  and  no  one  need  ever  know 
that  you  had  any  hand  in  the  matter." 

"  I  will  see  to  myself,  Tom.  You  needn't  think  again 
about  that,"  said  his  sister,  sadly.  "  Now  tell  me  what 
your  plan  is." 

"  Why,  it  luas  just  to  get  out  of  this  camp,  and  then  to 
strike  for  Monterey,  or  Camp  Baldwin.  But  you  say 
I'm  to  go  North." 

"  Yes,  you've  got  to  promise  that." 

"Well,  then,  you  must  settle  where  I'm  to  head  for. 
I  don't  know  anything  about  it." 

Dora  remained  a  few  minutes  buried  in  gloomy  re- 
flection. 

"  O,   Tom,"   said  she,  at  length,  "  you  have  need  to 


344  DOHA   DARLTXG 

make  good  use  of  your  life  after  this,  for  I  am  giving  my 
own  for  it." 

"  How  !     "VThat  do  you  mean,  Do  ?  " 

"  No  matter.  I  don't  want  to  make  much  of  it,  only 
to  make  you  feel  that  you  ought  to  do  right  after  you  get 
your  liberty." 

"  I  will,  Dora.  I  promise  to  do  just  as  you'd  Kke  to 
have  me,"  said  Tom,  earnestly. 

"  Then  wait  here  while  I  go  and  see  some  one.  Be 
patient ;  I  will  come  as  soon  as  I  can." 

"  All  right.     I'll  wait." 

Softly  leaving  the  tent,  Dora  entered  the  hospital,  and 
silently  moved  through  the  ranks  of  sleeping  men,  until 
she  reached  Captain  Karl's  bed,  placed  by  itself  at  the 
upper  end.  As  she  had  expected,  he  was  awake,  waiting 
for  her  to  bid  him  good  night. 

"  Captain  Karl,"  said  Dora,  sitting  down  close  to  his 
pillow,  "  you  said  that  you  would  be  my  brother  if  I 
came  to  live  with  you." 

"  So  I  did,  darling.     "VThat  then  ?  " 

"  That  shows  that  you  are  willing  to  do  a  great  deal 
for  me." 

"  And  so  I  am  —  a  great  deal." 

"  TTell,  then,  what  I  am  going  to  ask  is,  woQ  you  do  it 
in  another  way?" 

"  Do  it  ?    Do  what,  you  little  Sphinx?  " 

"  Show  that  you  love  me  as  well  as  if  you  were  my 
brother." 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGTMEXT.  345 

"  Explain,  Dora.  I  don't  know  what  you  are  driving 
at,'*  demanded  Captain  Karl,  uneasily. 

,"  I  am  going  to  ask  a  very,  very  great  favor  of  you  ; 
and  if  you  will  grant  it,  instead  of  all  you  offered  me  just 
now,  I  will  be  so  grateful !  " 

"  Speak  out,  mouse.  It'll  have  to  be  a  hard  matter 
that  I  won't  undertake  to  please  you." 

"  It  is  a  hard  matter  —  a  very  hard  matter.  Captain 
Karl,  my  brother  Tom  is  a  prisoner  here,  you  know." 

"Yes." 

"  And  they  are  going  to  send  him  away  with  some 
others,  to-morrow^,  to  be  put  in  prison." 

"  I  know,  Dora.     I'm  real  sorry  for  you  —  " 

"  'Wait  a  minute,  please.  Tom  hates  to  go  so,  you 
can't  think  ;  he  says  he'll  die  first,  and  I  know  he'll 
do  what  he  says.  He  miist  escape,  and  you  must  help 
him."   . 

"  /  help  him  !  I'ft  be  hanged  if  I  do  !  "  exclaimed  the 
captain,  indignantly. 

"  I  didn't  mean  actually  help  him  to  escape,  but  help 
him  after  he  gets  North,"  said  Dora,  timidly. 

"  North  !     What's  he  going  North  for  ?  " 

"  I  told  him,  if  I  helped  him  off,  he  must  promise  never 
to  fight  against  the  Union  any  more,  .but  to  stay  at  the 
North  and  work  there  until  I  came.  But  he  doSsn't  know 
where  to  go,  or  what  to  do  ;  he  has  no  friends,  and  no 
money,  and  I  have  none  to  give  him  ;  but  I  thought  per- 


34G  DORA   DARLING: 

haps  you  would  help  him  for  my  sake,  and  instead  of 
helping  me." 

"  I  wasn't  proposing  to  help  you,  as  you  call  it,  out  of 
benevolence,  but  because  I  want  you,  for  my  own  sake,  to 
live  in  my  home,"  said  the  captain,  in  rather  an  annoyed 
tone. 

"  But  if  you  care  so  much  as  that  for  me,  you  ought 
to  care  a  little  for  my  only  brother,"  said  Dora, 
naively. 

"  Especially  since  he  introduced  himself  to  me  so 
amiably  the  other  day,"  suggested  the  captain.  "  How- 
ever, that's  neither  here  nor  there.  I  bear  no  malice, 
and  hope  he  don't  ;  and  as  for  helping  him  with  money, 
he's  as  welcome  to  what  I  can  spare  as  he  is  to  the  free 
air  of  the  Xorth.  But  I  can't  do  anything  more,  Dora, 
I  am  really  afraid.  And  as  for  your  changing  your  plan 
of  coming  home  with  me,  I  won't  listen  to  it.  Your  pro- 
posed bargain  is  a  very  comical  one,  to  say  the  least. 
You  ask  me  to  turn  traitor  to  my  country  by  helping 
off  a  prisoner  of  war,  and,  as  a  reward,  you  promise  to 
deprive  me  of  the  one  thing  I'm  determined  not  to  do 
without." 

"  But  money  is  not  enough.  Captain  Karl,"  persisted 
Dora.  "  You  must  tell  him  where  to  go,  and  give  him 
a  letter  i6  some  one  who  will  set  him  to  work.  I  don't 
want  him  idling  round,  and  getting  into  mischief." 

"  You  wise  little  woman  !     You're   fifty  if  you're  a 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF   THE  REGIMENT.  347 

day.  If  this  precious  brother  had  half  your  sense,  he 
wouldn't  be  where  he  is  to-day." 

"Will  you,  Captain  Karl?" 

"  Will  I  what,  fair  Pertinacity,  as  Sir  Percie  Shafton 
would  style  you  ?  " 

"  Will  you  give  him  a  letter  to  some  friend  of  yours, 
and  tell  him  where  to  go  ?  " 

"  Why,  Do,  that's  aiding  and  abetting  his  escape.  I 
can't,  child,  with  any  show  of  honor." 

"  Dear,  dear,  what  shall  I  do?  No  one  will  help  me, 
and  I  can't  do  it  all  alone  !  "  exclaimed  the  poor  girl, 
hiding  her  face  upon  the  pillow. 

"  Now,  darling,  don't  speak  that  way,  and  don't,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  lose  your  courage  and  coolness.  If  you 
do  you  will  destroy  my  pet  ideal." 

Dora  raised  her  head. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Captain  Karl ;  but 
since  you  cannot  help  me,  I  won't  disturb  you  any  longer. 
Good  night,  sir." 

"  Good  !  Now  we  have  Joan  of  Ai-c  again.  Stop  a 
minute.  If  I  help  you  in  this  matter,  will  you  promise, 
sure  and  fast,  to  go  with  me  next  week  ?  " 

"No,  Captain  Karl." 

"  No  ?  Well,  that's  cool.  But  you  don't  say  you 
won't?" 

"  I  don't  say  anything.     It  Avon't  be  for  me  to  decide." 

"  For  whom  then  ?  " 


348  DORA  DARLING: 

"  I'd  rather  not  tell  you." 

"  Strange  girl !     Do  you  wish  to  go  with  me  ?  " 
"  Very  much.     But  perhaps  I  ought  to  go  somewhere 
else,  and  perhaps  I  shan't  be  allowed  to  do  either." 
"  Will  you  tell  me  what  you  mean?  " 
"  Not  now.     Will  you  help  my  brother,  or  not?" 
"  O,  you  horrid  little  vampire  !     Won't  you  be  easy 
till  you  have  dragged  the  confession  from  my  soul  that  I 
can  deny  you  nothing  ?  " 

"  Then  you  will  help  him?" 

"  I'll  help  you  ;  and  if  that  is  the  way  you  elect,  why, 
that  is  the  way  I  must  follow." 

"  Captain  Karl,  I  will  never  forget  it  —  never." 
"  Only  mind  this.  I'll  give  you  the  money,  and  the 
direction,  and  the  letter  to  a  friend  of  mine  in  Massachu- 
setts, who  will  place  your  brother  in  the  way  of  taking 
care  of  himself;  but  I  won't  see  him,  or  have  anything 
more  to  do  with  him  than  just  this.  I'm  a  fool  and  a 
rascal  to  do  so  much ;  but  I  do  it  for  you,  Dora,  and  I 
couldn't  help  doing  it,  if  it  was  worse,  when  you  ask  it 
so  earnestly." 

''  If  I  could  ever  do  anything  for  you,  or  some  one 
you  love,  you  would  find  that  I  know  how  much  this  is," 
faltered  Dora. 

"  Much  or  little,  I'll  do  it  for  you,  little  girl." 
"  But  he  must  go  to-night.     They  will  be  sent  away 
to-morrow,"  said  Dora,  uneasily. 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  349 

*'  To  be  sure.  AYell,  here's  my  note-book.  I  will  dic- 
tate, and  you  may  write  a  few  lines  to  Mr.  .     Then 

I  have  money  here.  Now  listen,  and  I  will  tell  you 
exactly  the  course  he  must  take  to  get  out  of  the  lines, 
and  the  route  he  had  best  travel  afterward." 

Half  an  hour  later  Dora  returned  to  her  own  quarters, 
with  a  heart  curiously  divided  between  hope  and  regret, 
shame  and  exultation. 

She  found  Tom  very  uneasy  at  her  prolonged  absence, 
and  his  joy  at  the  success  of  her  mission  was  proportion- 
ately great.  Kissing  his  sister  affectionately,  he  lavished 
praise  and  thanks  upon  her,  and  promised  in  the  most 
solemn  manner  to  obey  her  wishes,  and  those  of  his 
mother,  to  the  very  letter,  in  the  conduct  of  his  future 
life. 

"  If  you  will  only  remember  that,  Tom,  I  shan't  mind," 
said  Dora,  sadly. 

"Shan't  mind  what.  Do?" 

"  No  matter  now,  Tom." 
30 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

The  next  morning,  when  the  prisoners  were  mustered 
for  departure,  Thomas  Darley  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 

Inquiries  and  search  were  of  no  avail,  and  the  train 
finally  started  without  him. 

That  afternoon  Colonel  Blank  was  informed,  by  his 
orderly,  that  the  vivandiere  requested  an  interview  with 
him. 

"  Show  her  in,  Reynolds,  immediately.  Well,  Miss 
Dora,  so  you  have  come  to  see  me.     Take  a  seat." 

"  Can  I  see  you  alone,  sir?"  asked  Dora,  timidly,  as 
she  glanced  at  one  or  two  officers,  who  were  looking  at 
a  map  upon  the  table. 

"  Certainly.  Come  into  this  room,"  said  the  colonel, 
in  some  surprise,  as  he  raised  the  flap  of  the  adjoin- 
ing tent. 

^' What  is  it,  my  dear,"  continued  he,  kindly,  seeing 
that  the  vivandiere,  pale  and  agitated,  could  hardly  bring 
herself  to  speak. 

"  Colonel  Blank,  Thave  done  something  wrong,  and  I 
have  come  to  tell  you  of  it." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  that,  Dora,"  said  the  colonel, 
(350) 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE   REGIMENT.  351 

gravely,  as  he  placed  her  upon  a  seat,  and  took  one  him- 
self.    "  "What  is  your  offence  ?  " 

"  I  gave  my  brother  the  countersign  last  night,  and  I 
helped  him  to  escape  from  the  hospital." 

"You  did?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Dora,  I  could  not  have  believed  you  guilty  of  such 
treachery,"  said  the  colonel,  very  severely. 

"  He  was  my  brother,  sir.  My  mother  told  us  to  hold 
together.     He  would  have  died  if  he  had  gone  to  prison." 

"If  we  had  known  there  was  a  traitor  in  the  camp, 
we  might  have  guarded  against  this.  How  did  you  get 
the  countersign  ?  " 

"I  heard  one  of  the  men  tell  another,  when  I  was 
coming  home  last  night." 

"You  probably  asked  it  of  him." 

"  I  am  not  a  liar,  sir." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,  after  what  you  tell  me," 
said  the  colonel,  harshly. 

"  That  is  because  you  don't  know  me,  sir,"  replied 
Dora,  with  quiet  pride. 

"  I  find,  indeed,  that  I  do  not  know  you.  I  thought 
you  were  to  be  trusted  anywhere,  and  with  any  charge. 
I  find  I  have  mistaken  you  entirely. 

"  Why  have  you  come  here  now  ?  "  continued  he,  after 
a  pause,  which  Dora  had  not  attempted  to  break. 

"  To  tell  you  this,  sir." 


352  DORA  DARLING: 

"  Of  course.     But  why  do  you  come  to  tell  me  ?  " 

"  That  you  might  punish  me  in  any  way  you  think 
best,  sir." 

"  Then  you  acknowledge  yourself  worthy  of  punish- 
ment?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  intended  to  bear  the  penalty  when  I 
did  it." 

"What  penalty?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.     Whatever  you  choose." 

The  colonel  paced  the  length  of  his  tent  a  dozen  times, 
and  then  returned  to  look  with  a  sort  of  angry  relenting 
at  the  culprit  sitting  so  motionless,  with  di'ooping  head 
and  folded  hands. 

"  Where  has  your  brother  gone?  "  asked  he. 

"  Out  of  the  state,  sir.  He  has  made  a  solemn  prom- 
ise never  to  fight  on  the  rebel  side  again." 

"To  whom?" 

"  To  me,  sir." 

"  O,  you  paroled  him —  did  you?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Dora,  simply. 

"  And  why  couldn't  he  wait,  and  be  paroled  by  gov- 
ernment, or,  at  the  worst,  exchanged  after  a  few 
months  ?  " 

"  He  said  it  would  kill  him  to  be  shut  up  in  jail.  He 
has  always  lived  such  a  free  sort  of  life,  I  really  think  it 
would.  And  he  said  he  would  kill  himself  before  he 
got  there." 


THE  DAUGHTEn    OF  THE  REGIMENT.  353 

"  Poh  !  "  said  the  colonel,  contemptuously. 

"You  don't  know  Tom,  sir,  any  more  than  you 
do  me.  We  never,  either  of  us,  say  what  Ave  don't 
mean." 

"  Well,  well.  And  where  is  he  going,  and  what  is  he 
going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell  anything  more  about  it,  sir.  I  told  you 
that,  because  I  wanted  you  to  know  he  isn't  a  rebel  any 
more.  I  wouldn't  have  let  him  go  if  he  had  been  going 
to  fight  against  us  ever  again." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that?  "  ' 

"  Very  sure,  sir.     I  told  him  so." 

"  Well,  that  makes  a  difference,  to  be  sure.  And  you 
think  his  word  is  to  be  depended  on  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  sir." 

*'  And  does  no  one  but  you  know  anything  about  it?" 
asked  the  colonel,  sharply. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  I  can't  answer  any  questions  ex- 
cept just  about  myself." 

"  O,  then  it  was  a  conspiracy ! " 

"  It  is  I  who  am  the  one  to  be  punished,  sir." 

"  You  trust  to  my  good  nature.  You  think  I  won't 
actually  take  any  notice  of  your  offence,"  said  the  colonel, 
suspiciously. 

"  Xo,  sir ;  I  expected  you  would  be  angrier  than  you 
are,  and  punish  me  severely." 

"How?" 

30* 


354  DORA  DARLING: 

"  I  couldn't  tell  how.  Perhaps  I  should  be  sent  to 
Columbus,  to  prison,  in  my  brother's  place." 

"  You  deserve  it." 

"  Very  likely,  sir." 

"  I  think  I  shall  dismiss  you  from  your  appointment  as 
vivandiere.  Even  though  I  may  excuse  you  personally, 
I  should  not  do  my  duty  as  an  officer  to  keep  a  convicted 
spy  and  traitor  in  my  camp." 

"  Spy  and  traitor ! "  murmured  Dora,  in  a  tone  of 
horror. 

"  Certainly." 

"  Not  a  spy,  sir." 

*'  How  did  you  overhear  the  countersign?  " 

"  Accidentally,  upon  my  word,  sir." 

"  Well,  a  traitor  you  certainly  are,  and  you  must 
leave  the  regiment." 

"  And  will  you  tell  the  men  I  am  a  traitor  and  a 
spy  ?  "  asked  Dora,  raising  a  face  of  agony  to  her  stern 
judge. 

"  Perhaps." 

"  O,  sii' !  " 

"  You  said  you  could  bear  the  penalty." 

"I  can,  sir.     Where  shall  you  send  me?" 

"  I  shall  send  you,  Dora,  to  my  own  home  in  Ohio,  to 
the  care  of  my  wife.  This  offence  of  yours  is  unpardon- 
able in  a  vivandiere^  but  in  a  warm-hearted  little  girl  it  is 
easily  forgiven.     Do  you  understand  me,  Dora?     You 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE  EEdlMEXT.  3^0 

must  leave  the  regiment,  but  you  shall  be  the  daughter 
of  its  colonel  for  the  rest  of  your  life.  I  have  intended 
this  for  some  time." 

"  But  now,  sir,  "vvhen  you  have  just  called  me  those 
dreadful  names  —  "  faltered  Dora. 

"  Perhaps  I  spoke  a  little  more  harshly  than  I  felt, 
Dora ;  and  I  repeat,  the  same  qualities  are  not  essential 
in  a  young  girl  and  an  army  official.  I  forgive  you, 
and  I  will  conceal  your  fault  from  every  one.  I  will  not 
even  take  measures  to  discover  your  accomplices,  —  for 
you  must  have  had  them,  —  and  I  will  love  you  and  care 
for  you  as  a  father,  as  long  as  you  continue  to  deserve  it. 
Do  you  accept  my  offer  ?  '^ 

Had  a  bomb  from  Camp  Baldwin  exploded  in  his  tent, 
Colonel  Blank  could  not  have  been  more  astonislicd  than 
by  the  answer  of  the  vivandiere. 

"  I  thank  you  very,  very  much,  sir  ;  I  do,  indeed  ;  but 
I  cannot  accept." 

"  Cannot  accept !  Upon  my  word,  girl !  And  why, 
pray?" 

"  Don't  be  angry,  sir.  I  am  not  ungrateful,  but  Cap- 
tain Windsor's  mother  has  sent  for  me  to  come  and  live 
with  her,  and  Mr.  Brown  wants  very  much  that  I  should 
go  home  with  him." 

"  And  which  are  you  going  with?  " 

"  I  don't  knoAv,  sir.  I  thought,  if  you  was  satisfied 
with  only  sending  me  away,  I  would  ask  you  to  be  so 
kind  as  to  advise  me." 


356  DOHA   DARLIXO: 

"  But,  Dora,  I  want  you  myself,  and  I  have  written  to 
my  wife  to  say  that  I  should  bring  you  when  I  came." 

"  But  the  others  asked  me  first,  sir." 

"  And  you  had  rather  go  with  them  ?  " 

"  I  know  them  better  than  I  do  you,  sir,"  faltered 
Dora. 

Again  the  colonel  thoughtfully  paced  the  tent.  Return- 
ing, he  laid  his  hand  on  Dora's  head. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  indeed,  my  child,"  said  he,  kindly, 
"  that  I  must  give  up  this  plan  that  I  have  thought  so 
much  about ;  but  I  will  try  to  be  neither  selfish  nor  tyran- 
nical. Go  with  whichever  friend  you  really  think  will  be 
the  best  guardian  for  you  ;  but  remember  that,  as  long  as 
I  live,  you  are  my  adopted  daughter,  and  I  shall  always 
be  ready  to  help  or  advise  you." 

He  offered  her  his  hand,  and  Dora  carried  it  to  her 
lips. 

"  You  are  so  very,  very  kind,  sii',"  murmured  she. 

"  Captain  Windsor  is  going  home  on  sick  leave  in  the 
course  of  a  few  days,"  said  the  colonel,  thoughtfully. 
"  You  might  go  with  him  ;  or,  if  you  decide  to  accept 
Mr.  Brown's  invitation,  I  will  stretch  a  point  of  disci- 
pline, and  retain  you  in  your  present  office  until  our  term 
of  service  expires,  which  will  not  now  be  long.  What  do 
you  decide  on  doing?  " 

"  May  I  go  or  stay,  just  as  I  please?" 

"  Yes,  I  said  so." 


THE  DAUGHTEn   OF  THE  REGIMEXT.  357 

"Then,  sir,  I  think  I  will  go  home  with  Captain 
Karl,  to  take  care  of  hira  on  the  journey,  and  while  he  is 
sick.  Then,  when  Mr.  Brown  goes  home,  if  he  wants 
me,  really  and  truly,  as  much  as  he  said,  I  will  go  to 
him,  because  he  is  all  alone  in  the  world,  just  like  me 
and  Captain  Karl  has  his  mother  and  sister." 

"  Very  sensible.  But  why  did  you  ask  first  whether 
you  might  go  or  stay,  as  you  chose  ?  " 

"  Because,  sir,"  said  the  vivancUere,  with  quiet  pride, 
"  if  I  had  been  sent  away  from  here  for  a  punishment,  I 
would  not  have  gone  to  either  of  them." 

"  Why  not  ?  You  would  have  needed  their  protection 
all  the  more." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  but  I  shouldn't  feel  right  to  go  in  that  way. 
I  should  feel  as  if  they  only  took  me  out  of  pity,  and  as 
if,  perhaps,  they  wouldn't  have,  if  I  had  had  any  other 
home." 

"And  what  would  you  have   done  in  that   case?" 
"  I  should  have  taken  Picter,  and  gone  to  the  North 
by  myself,  looking  for  my  aunt,"  said  Dora,  confidently. 
Colonel  Blank  looked  at  the  child  with  mingled  admi- 
ration and  regret. 

"I  am  sorry  you  won't  say  no  to  both  of  them,  and 
come  home  with  me,"  said  he.  "  You  are  a  very  odd 
girl,  with  your  childish  simplicity  and  your  womanly 
self-respect.  You  know  so  little  of  the  world,  and  yet 
are  so  fearless  of  confronting^  it !  " 


358  DORA  DARLIXG. 

"  I  am  not  afraid,  because  nobody  has  ever  tried  to 
harm  me." 

"  Well,  my  child,  go  and  think  over  your  plans  a  little, 
not  forgetting  that  my  own  offer  remains  open  to  you ; 
and  whatever  you  decide  upon,  I  shall  give  you  every 
assistance  in  my  power  in  carrying  it  out." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  very  much  indeed.    Good  morning." 

''  Good  morning,  Dora  Darling." 


CHAPTER     XXXVII. 

In  leaving  the  colonel's  tent,  Dora  encountered  Picter, 
limping  along  with  a  gun  over  his  shoulder. 

"  I'm  glad  I  met  you,  Pic,"  said  she,  turning  and 
walking  along  beside  him.  "  I  have  something  to  tell 
you." 

"  Wha'sit?" 

"  We're  going  Xorth,  Pic  — you  a]3d  I  —  in  the  course 
of  a  very  few  days." 

"  Don'  say  so,  honey !  Dat  good  news,  any  way. 
How's  we  gwine  ?  " 

"  With  Captain  Karl.  He's  going  home  because  he's 
so  poorly,  and  he  wants  us  to  go  and  take  care  of  him." 

"An'  is  we  gwine  ter  stop  derealluz?"  asked  Pic, 
rather  coolly. 

"  No,  I  suppose  not.  I  don't  know  yet,  Pic,  and  you 
musn't  say  a  word  about  it  to  any  one  ;  but  I  think 
very  likely,  when  the  regiment  goes  home,  Mr.  Brown 
will  want  us  to  come  to  Ohio,  and  live  with  him." 

"  Dat's  it,  missy.  Dat's  de  ticket.  I  goes  for  libin' 
long  wid  de  parson.  Cap'n  Charlie,  he  mighty  funny 
gen'l'man  ;  de  fust  rates  comp'ny  dat  eber  I  seed  ;  but 
(359) 


360  DORA   DARLING: 

de  parson  on'erstan's  better.  Get  a  heap  ob  t'outs  out*Q 
*im  ebery  time  I  sees  'im." 

"Have  you  talked  much  with  him,  Picter?"  asked 
Dora,  with  a  suppressed  smile. 

"  Lor',  yes,  missy.  Dat  day  you  fus'  'vised  me  fer 
talk  wid  'im,  he  tuck  me  'long  to  he  tent,  an'  Varsed  so 
sensible  an'  pooty  I  felt 's  if  I'd  growd  a  inch  'fore  I  lef ' 
'im.  Didn'  hab  no  jokes,  an'  kin'  o'  makin'  fun  way,  wid 
'im,  like  Cap'n  Charlie,  but  jes'  talk  right  off  ser'ous, 
same's  he'd  talk  to  a  w'ite  gen'l'man.  Made  ole  nigger 
feel's  ef  he  wor  some  'count  in  de  worl',  arter  all." 

"  But  what  did  he  talk  about?  " 

"  'Bout  hebenly  matters,  mos'ly,  missy.  Gib  me  some 
new  idees  ;  tell  yer,  he  did  dat,  honey." 

"  And  you've  talked  since  with  him?  " 

"  Lots  o'  times.  He  alluz  jes'  so  patien'  an'  good-na- 
tured, neber  makin'  fun,  nor  showiu'  off  he  buckra  ways 
on  pore  ole  darkey,  dat  don'  know  noffin'.  Knows  w'en 
he's  treated  right,  dough,  jes'  as  well  as  a  lighter  com- 
plected feller." 

Dora's  face  glowed. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Brown  is  a  different  man  from  the  rest  of 
the  world,"  said  she,  softly. 

"  No  truer  word  dan  dat  in  de  Bible,  missy.  Reckon 
he's  he  one  dat'll  sign  de  pass  for  bof  ob  us  ter  trabel  de 
dark  road.  Satan's  paterole  can'  tech  us,  ef  we  gits  a 
line  from  'im  fer  pertection." 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  361 

"Yes,  Pic,  you  are  right,"  said  Dora,  thoughtfully 
"  To  live  with  him  will  be  the  wisest,  but  the  merriest 
would  be  Captain  Karl's  home." 

"  Merry  'nough,"  grunted  Pic.  "  So's  de  cracklin'  o' 
thorns  underneaf  de  pot  merry  'nough  ;  bud  fer  good  stid- 
dy  fire  ter  cook  yer  vittles,  or  warm  yer  berry  heart  to 
de  middle,  gib  me  good  solid  oak.  Now,  dat  ar's  de 
parson." 

"  Heart  of  oak,"  murmured  Dora. 

"Well,  missy,  I's  all  ready  w'en  you  is.  'Spec's  I'll 
see  yer  ag'in  to-night  or  'morrer  mornin'.  I's  gwine  out 
in  de  woods  a  piece  jes'  now,  an'll  say,  Mornin',  fer 
Hwon't  do  ter  let  de  scouts  get  'noder  crack  at  yore  lilly 
head." 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Pic  ?  " 

"  O,  jes'  out  here  a  piece.    Mornin',  missy." 

"  Good  morning.  Pic,"  said  Dora,  dubiously ;  for  she 
recognized  in  the  eye  of  her  old  retainer  a  certain  gleam 
that,  experience  warned  her,  foreboded  mischief. 

Returning  to  the  hospital,  she  found  Captain  Karl 
dressed  for  the  day,  and  impatiently  awaiting  her  ap- 
pearance. He  was  about  to  return  to  his  own  quarters, 
having  hitherto  preferred  the  hospital,  that  he  might 
enjoy  Dora's  nursing.  Now,  however,  the  surgeon 
insisted  that  purer  air,  and  more  quiet,  would  be  his 
best  remedies,  until  he  could  set  out  upon  his  home- 
ward journey ;  and  he  only  awaited  Dora's  return  to 
31 


362  DOHA   DARLING: 

bid  her  good  by,  or,  rather,  to  solicit  her  company  to 
his  quarters. 

"  Just  to  make  it  seem  a  bit  cheerful  at  first,"  pleaded 
he.  "  And  you  must  stay  with  me  ail  you  can.  No  one 
else  needs  you  as  T  do,"  added  he,  somewhat  querulously. 
"  Now,  tell  me,  if  you  have  got  through  your  mysteries, 
are  you  going  home  with  me  ?  because,  if  not,  I've  made 
up  my  mind  not  to  go  myself." 

"  Wait  till  we  get  settled  in  your  own  quarters,  and 
then  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it,"  said  Dora,  smilingly,  as 
she  busied  herself  in  wrapping  the  invalid  from  the  keen 
air  he  was  about  to  encounter. 

Having  seen  him  comfortably  disposed  upon  his  own 
bed,  and  having  dismissed  the  nurse  and  servant  who  had 
supported  him  during  the  short  walk,  Dora  sat  down  be- 
side her  patient,  and  while  gently  caressing  his  hair  with 
her  fingers,  told  him  all  the  incidents  of  the  morning, 
and  her  own  decision  as  to  her  future  movements. 

"  You're  a  darling  Dora,  as  well  as  a  Dora  Darling," 
said  the  captain,  putting  the  little  hand  to  his  lips.  "I 
began  to  be  afraid  you  were  going  to  slip  through  my 
fingers,  somehow,  though  you  wouldn't  have  found  it  an 
easy  matter  to  accomplish,  I  can  tell  you.  As  for  your 
going  to  the  parson  by  and  by,  that's  all  bosh.  Once 
under  my  mother's  roof,  it'll  be  a  hard  fight  to  get 
away  again,  you'll  find.  However,  we  needn't  bother 
about  that  now.     And  so  the  old  man  thought  to  play 


THE   DAUGHTER   OF    THE   REGIMENT.  363 

judge  after  the  fashion  of  the  fox  with  the  crows  — 
did  he?" 

"How  was  that?" 

'*  Don't  you  know  ?  Why,  they  were  quarrelling  over 
a  bit  of  cheese,  and  referred  the  matter  to  the  fox,  who 
settled  it  at  once  by  gobbling  up  the  cheese,  just  as  the 
colonel  wanted  to  gobble  you." 

"  But  whichever  crow  gets  it  will  gobble  it  ail  the 
same ;  so  the  poor  cheese  is  lost,  any  way,"  suggested 
Dora,  archly. 

"  Yes,  swallowed  down,  appropriated,  assimilated, 
what  you  will ;  you  may  be  sm^e  the  crow  known  as 
Captain  Karl  is  too  wise  a  bird  to  let  go,  once  he  has  his 
clutches  on  you." 

"Well,  now  I  am  going  to  find  Mr.  Brown,  and  tell 
him.  Perhaps  I  shall  come  to  see  you  again,  after 
dinner." 

"  Bother  Mr.  Brown  !     Stay  here  ;  I  want  you  — " 

But  Dora,  with  a  merry  nod,  was  already  gone  ;  and 
the  captain,  after  a  good-natured  growl  of  disappoint- 
ment, had  no  alternative  but  to  lie  and  think  of  a  certain 
little  secret  of  his  own,  and  the  happy  days  awaiting 
them  both  at  home,  until  he  fell  fast  asleep,  and  contin- 
ued his  air  castles  in  his  dreams. 

Dora,  meantime,  found  the  chaplain  in  his  tent,  and 
after  confiding  to  him  the  story  of  her  brother's  evasion, 
that  she  might  not  escape  whatever  censure  her  share  in 


364  DORA   DAIiLING: 

it  might  elicit  from  him,  she  repeated  her  conversation 
with  the  colonel,  and  her  own  decision. 

Mr.  Brown  listened  attentively,  and  when  she  had 
done,  said, — 

"  You  have  done  well,  Dora.  I  say  nothing  of  your 
connivance  at  your  brother's  escape.  As  you  are  to 
leave  the  army  at  once,  it  is  not  worth  while  to  insist 
upon  questions  of  army  discipline ;  and  your  future  life 
will  not  probably  bring  a  similar  emergency.  Your 
proposition  to  accompany  Captain  Windsor  home  is  hu- 
mane and  wise  ;  for,  with  Colonel  Blank's  ideas  upon 
this  matter,  I  should  not  feel  it  advisable  to  retain  you  in 
his  camp.  But  remember,  Dora,  that  you  promise  to 
come  to  me  whenever  I  am  again  at  home,  and  at  liberty 
to  devote  myself  as  I  would  wish  to  your  education.  I 
shall  not  say  now  how  much  that  promise  is  to  me,  nor 
how  much  I  build  upon  it ;  but  remember  that  it  is  a 
promise." 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  is  a  promise,"  said  Dora,  with  a  little 
solemn  air  that  brought  a  smile  to  the  grave  face  of  her 
companion. 

"  I  see  that  you  feel  its  weight,"  said  he.  "  And  now 
run  away  ;  for  I  am  busy  with  my  sermon." 

Late  that  night  Dora  was  aroused  from  deep  slumber 
by  a  scratching  on  the  outside  of  her  tent.  Starting  up , 
she  exclaimed, — 

"  Who's  that  ?     What's  the  matter  ?  " 


THE  DAUGHTER    OF  THE  REGIMENT,  865 

"  'Sh,  missj.    'Tain't  no  one  but  ole  Pic.    T'out  I  jes' 
stop  an'  tell  yer  lie'm  clone  fer." 

''  Who's  clone  for  ?     What  do  you  mean,  Pic  ?  " 
"De  Bony  party,   missy.     He    done    fer,    shore,    dis 
time." 

"Wh^,  killed?" 

"  Reckon  he's  dat,  missy.  Heem  tell  wid  one  ob  our 
scouts  he  wor  'long  wid  a  picket,  'bout  half  way  from 
here  to  de  place  whar  de  rebs  is.  So  I  t'out  I'd  bes'  go 
an'  exercute  dat  jus'ice  dat  I  got  disapp'inted  ov  t'oder 
time,  'specially  as  I  reck'nd  we'd  be  movin'  'fore  lono- 
So  I  tuck  de  ole  rifle  an'  jogged  along  inter  de  woods  a 
piece,  foun'  our  own  pickets,  got  d'rections  whar  de  rebs 
was,  crep'  up,  an'  shore  'nough,  seed  dat  feller  sklnnin'  a 
rabbit  'fore  de  fire,  innercent  as  a  turkle  dub.  T'out  Fd 
wait  till  'e  got  de  rabbit  skun,  'cause  dey  say  onfinished 
work  ha'nts  yer  in  t'oder  worl',  an'  as  he  rips  it  off  an' 
frows  it  down,  I  jes'  squints  'long  de  bar'l,  pull  'e  trig- 
ger, an'  golly,  missy,  it'd  do  yer  good  fer  see  dat  feller 
kick." 

"  Did  you  really  shoot  him,  Picter?" 
"  No  two  ways  'bout  it,  missy.     Jus'ice  am  exercuted 
dis  time,  shore,  an'  so's  de  nio-o-er." 

"  Picter,  I  am  very  much  shocked,  and  very  angry,  too. 
It  was  murder,  and  nothing  else.     Go  away,  directly; 
and  in  the  morning  tell  Mr.  Brown  about  it,  and  see  what 
he  will  say,"  exclaimed  Dora,  indignantly. 
31* 


366  DORA   DARLIXG: 

"  Now,  honey,  chile,  don'  'e  talk  dat  ar  way  to  poor 
ole  uncle,"  began  Pic,  soothingly ;  but  Dora  interrupted 
him. 

"  No,  don't  say  any  more.  I  don't  like  you,  Picter, 
and  I  don't  want  to  talk  any  longer.  I'm  going  to  sleep, 
and  shan't  answer  again,  whatever  you  say." 

"  Ain't  no  use  sayin'  noffin',  den,"  retorted  Pic,  offend- 
ed in  his  turn,  and  with  no  further  attempt  at  conversa- 
tion, he  withdrew  to  his  own  quarters ;  nor  did  Dora 
again  see  him  until  the  morning  of  their  departure  for 
the  North. 

But  neither  then,  nor  at  any  subsequent  period,  did 
either  allude  to  this,  the  subject  of  their  only  disagree- 
ment ;  nor  did  Pic  think  it  necessary  to  obey  the  recom- 
mendation of  his  young  mistress,  to  submit  his  course  for 
judgment  to  the  chaplain. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

It  is  now  necessary  to  pass  in  silence  over  the  space 
of  several  weeks,  leaving  to  the  imagination  of  the 
reader  the  demonstrations  of  love  and  regret  offered  by 
the  brave  boys  of  the  Ohio  Twenty —  to  their  "  daugh- 
ter," who,  in  bidding  them  fkrewell,  assured  each  in  turn 
that  she  should  never  forget  her  relation  to  the  regiment, 
nor  consider  it  severed,  as  long  as  she  lived ;  and  each 
one  was  invited  to  call  upon  her  for  service,  or  remem- 
brance, whenever  he  might  find  it  pleasant  to  do  so. 

To  the  same  vivid  imagination  must  also  be  left  the 
incidents  of  the  long  journey  between  Cheat  Mountain 
summit  and  the  quiet  village  in  Massachusetts  where 
Captain  Windsor's  mother  and  sister  awaited  his  re- 
turn, and  cordially  welcomed  his  adopted  sister  for  his 
sake. 

But  of  matters  subsequent  to  her  arrival  at  'Mrs. 
Windsor's  home,  we  will  let  Dora  speak  for  herself,  in  an 
extract  from  a  long  letter  written  by  her  to  Mr.  Brown, 
directly  after  becoming  settled  in  her  new  abode. 

After  detailing  the  journey,  and  speaking  of  Captain 
Karl's  renovated  health   she  goes  on  to  say,  — 

(367) 


368  DORA   DARLING: 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Brown,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  some- 
thing so  surprising,  that  I  can  hardly  believe  it  myself. 
Only  think  of  Captain  Karl's  mother  being  my  own  dear 
mother's  sister,  the  very  aunt  Lucy  that  I  have  so  long 
wanted  to  find  !  And  only  think,  too,  that  Charlie  (that's 
what  we  call  Captain  Karl  almost  always  here)  knew  all 
the  time,  or  suspected,  at  least ;  because,  when  he  wrote  to 
his  mother  about  me,  and  said  my  name  was  Dora  Dar- 
ling, she  wrote  back  word  that  her  sister  married  a  man 
named  Darley,  and  told  him  to  inquire  if  it  wasn't  the  same 
name.  Then  he  took  up  my  little  Bible  one  day,  when  I 
bad  been  reading  to  him,  and  saw  mother's  name,  '  Mary 
Lee,'  written  in  it ;  and  his  own  mother's  name  was  Lucy 
Lee  ;  so  he  knew  then  right  off.  But  he  made  believe  to 
his  mother  that  he  didn't  know  ;  and  he  never  said  a  word 
tx>  me ;  but  he  says,  if  I  had  concluded  not  to  go  with 
him,  he  should  have  told  me,  though  he  didn't  want  to, 
because  he  wanted  to  surprise  us  both. 

"  And  sure  enough  we  were  surprised,  when,  pretty  soon 
after  we  got  home,  Charlie  asked  me  for  my  Bible,  and 
gave  it  to  his  mother,  and  asked  her  if  ever  she  saw  it 
before.  Aunt  Lucy  turned  just  as  pale,  —  you  can't  think 
how  pale,  —  and  looked  in  a  sort  of  wild  way  at  him  and 
at  me ! 

"  Then  Charley  nodded  his  head  and  laughed  (I  think 
he  laughed  so  as  to  keep  from  crying) ,  and  said,  — 

"  '  All  right,  mother.     Dora  is  the  daughter  of  the 


THE  DAUGHTER   OF  THE  REGIMENT.  369 

Mary  Lee  who  owned  that  book  before  she  married  Mr. 
Darley.* 

"  Then  aunt  Lucy  hugged  me  and  kissed  me  so  much ! 
and  she  cried  ;  but  I  was  too  much  amazed  to  cry,  and 
Marnie  —  that's  Charley's  sister  —  hugged  me  and  kissed 
me  too  ;  and  O,  Mr.  Brown,  I  was  so  happy,  so  dread- 
fully happy,  it  seemed  as  if  my  heart  would  break. 

"And  now  we  are  all  getting  used  to  each  other,  and 
quieting  down  a  little,  it  is  still  pleasanter,  and  I  am  to 
go  to  school  with  Marnie  directly. 

"  But,  dear  Mr.  Brown,  they  won't  hear  a  word  about 
my  going  to  live  with  you  ;  and  aunt  Lucy  says  you  must 
get  a  parish  here  instead,  or,  at  any  rate,  must  come  and 
make  us  a  nice  long  visit  as  soon  as  your  time  in  the 
army  is  out.  Please  do  come,  and  we  will  talk  about  it 
then.  1  haven't  forgotten  that  I  promised  to  come,  if 
you  wanted  me  ;  and  I  shall  do  whatever  you  think  best, 
after  you  have  talked  with  aunt  Lucy. 

"  Picter  lives  here  ;  and  he  is  to  have  a  little  house, 
and  take  care  of  our  garden,  and  work  for  other  people 
when  he  wants  to.  But  we  shall  always  take  care  of 
him,  of  course.  He  is  very  happy,  and  sends  his  '  'spec's 
to  Mas'r  Brown,'  with  a  great  many  wishes  to  see  and 
hear  you  talk  again. 

"  My  brother  Tom  has  been  placed  on  a  farm  in  the 
western  part  of  this  state,  and  is  doing  very  well  indeed 
there ;  but  I  think  he  wants  to  go  into  the  army  again, 


370  DORA  DARLING. 

on  the  right  side  this  time.  I  hope  he  will  make  up  his 
mind  to  do  so.  It  makes  me  feel  a  little  bad  that  Charley 
doesn't  want  to  have  me  see  Tom  often,  and  doesn't  want 
him  to  live  any  nearer  us.  I  know,  now,  one  of  the 
reasons  he  was  so  unwilling  to  help  him  come  North. 
He  doesn't  like  him  a  bit,  and  I  am  so  sorry ! 

"  And  now,  dear  Mr.  Brown,  I  must  say  good  by. 
Please  give  my  love  to  Colonel  Blank,  and  tell  him  about 
my  new  friends.  And  give  my  love  to  all  the  men, 
please,  when  they  come  together  Sunday  afternoon  to 
hear  you  read.  I  miss  doing  that  very  much,  though  I 
am  going  to  have  a  Sunday  school  class.  But  it  seems 
very  small  and  still  here,  after  the  camp.  Good  by,  dear 
Mr.  Brown. 

"  I  am  your  affectionate  daughter, 

"  Dora." 

As  the  chaplain  finished  reading  this  letter,  and  placed 
it  carefully  away,  he  smiled  a  smile  of  tender  determina- 
tion. 

"  I  won't  be  robbed  of  my  ewe  lamb  by  any  claim  of 
kindred,  or  custom,"  said  he,  softly.  "  She  shall  come 
to  me  yet,  of  her  own  free  will,  and  no  man  shall  put  us 
asunder." 

THE  END. 


p 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 
70 


